


if anger and revenge can turn this ocean into a barren desert, then true love can also bloom flowers here

by commandmetobewell



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Blood, Broken Bones, F/F, Gore, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Illnesses, Major Character Injury, Minor Character Death, Original Character Death(s), Post-Episode: s02e16 Blood Must Have Blood Part II, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Burn Clarke Griffin/Lexa, Torture, Tragedy, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-12
Updated: 2016-02-11
Packaged: 2018-05-12 08:35:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 122,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5659750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/commandmetobewell/pseuds/commandmetobewell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Not everyone is capable of loving their enemy.</p><p>(But it doesn't stop you from trying)</p><p>**EDIT: THE RAPE/UNPLANNED PREGNANCY WARNING HAS BEEN REMOVED**</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. without you, the nights are colourless, flavourless, and sickly (like a malady)

**Author's Note:**

> **EDIT: TAGS HAVE CHANGED**
> 
> The Rape/Unplanned Pregnancy has been removed.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the moonlight appears fake - everything is false, like dust in my eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first Clexa fanfic ever and honestly I just finished binge-watching the show two weeks ago and got hit with the biggest amount of Lexa feels so here is my take on what happened after the mountain. I know season 3 is coming out soon, but my work will probs not be cannon at all to what happens in the television show. I usually just write Korrasami/Salara/Shiara fics, but this one is something I could not stop myself from writing, haha.
> 
> (I'm incredibly indecisive)
> 
> Thanks for reading!!! :D

 

**Clarke**

 

Your bones are weak and weary as you stumble through the remnants of what's left of the Mountain. The bodies have long since burned behind you, the weight of a thousand deaths bearing down upon your shoulders as you make your way through the lush greens of the forest. The quiet hum of the buzzing crickets and other animals lulls you to a trance. You almost feel high, like that time you'd snuck a stick of cannabis into your room with Wells when you were kids. You can still hear him in the back of your head, his hands tightly gripping yours like the only friend you'd ever have. He trusted you so much. He cradled your pain and tucked it neatly away inside of his chest, taking it upon himself to shelter you even when you ignored him. He was selfless in every meaning of the word.

So selfless that he let you hate him when he'd ever only _loved_ you.

For years you thought that your mother was a saviour, providing care to those who couldn't do it, saving lives and ending them with grace. You modelled your healing techniques after spending long hours with her. Your father, he was the man who gave you love, who showed you how to mould junk into something new. He'd given you the love of painting, of expressionism, of freedom. He sought to make every single pain in your life disappear with his booming laugh and grin. How he could hold you in silence for hours on end, feeling like you'd talked until you've run out of air. And even then, at the end, it was like you'd never stayed quiet.

You don't think of him again.

It's ridiculous to you, after having lived in space and in camps, that you don't find beauty in the place that is so natural. You passed the bioluminescent plants on the way through the forest, and it only made you hate yourself with the thought of Finn's comment at how even you, the stuck up Sky Princess, could laugh. Earth made it seem real, that you never had a life outside of your grief. It wasn't until you and Finn hid away that you discovered what this planet means. It is the home you were meant to have but it slipped from your reach. Born too early, came too late. Dropped down from the sky, not birthed on the land, like-

You stop.

Anger fills your bones as you see her face flickering in the flames, while her men stood behind you. The distant, longing look in her eyes as she'd told you that she'd chosen with her head instead of her heart. Sad. _Empty_. It was a haunting glance, like she'd been down that road before and had to make the same choice. A choice that you know you couldn't have made, to leave a truce and run like a coward with their tail between their legs, just for the sake of your people. The truce meant both your people go in and both come out. She betrayed that with her empty words. You are both so different. You do not hold a void in your chest, a place where your heart is. You are not her. You are not heartless. You kissed Finn before you killed him, you gave him peace as best you could.

But then, the screaming voice in the back of your head pleads you to remember Gustus, and it asks you, had she not done the same for him?

You growl and raise your fist, slamming your bloody knuckles against the bark of the nearest tree.

The _Commander_ is no peace-giver.

She's the one who let two hundred and fifty people die in that village, some of them being her closest warriors. Indra had nearly died, Octavia too. Even though you know Heda never trusted your friend, you know that she was proud of her, of her proving ability to be a grounder. You'd seen it in her eye when you caught her overlooking a sparring match between the adopted Grounder and her most trusted general. The Commander didn't smile often, but you saw it there, in the pale dawn light, the crack of a smirk as Octavia dropped Indra to the ground with a blade to her neck, grinning and laughing at the downed warrior.

But then you remember that she threw it all in your face with that deal.

Is that not why you are here? Wandering like a soulless child, alone and separated? Bellamy would've come, you know that much. He gave you forgiveness. Some part of you wonders if you'd fallen for the wrong boy, perhaps instead of Finn, the Blake brother. Bellamy is the protective type, someone that would've shot himself to save you. He loves you so much, but you can't love. Not after… not after _her_. She'd warned you that plans don't last very long in battle. It strikes you now, as your body trembles in the cold front that approaches from the west, that maybe she'd not just been talking about the war. You do not pity her - not for Costia or Gustus or even Anya - but a part of you wonders if you're really any different than she is. The voice returns again, softer and soothing.

What if there had been more?

Beyond those you saw die at her hands. Beyond Costia and Anya, and even Gustus. Beyond _you_.

You refuse to answer. You know what will happen if you do.

So instead you keep moving, never knowing where you're going. You just need to leave it behind, the Mountain - _her_ \- and travel where your heart does not ache and your lungs do not protest. You need to start living and breathing again, not surviving like she said she does. If Wells were here, he'd tell you to see beyond yourself, to look at what surrounds your situation. You feel tears streaking down your cheeks as you fall to your knees. She's only a few years older than you and yet she commands armies with men two times her size, and possibly four times her strength. If she can do that, if she can kill and live, so can you.

But you remind yourself, you cannot become her.

You cannot become _death_.

 

**Bellamy**

 

You stare down at Abby, wondering if this is the right decision after all. Clarke is gone, half your people are dead, and the Mountain has fallen. You look to your hands, to where you wanted to push the lever to end this monstrosity with only more death. You'd warned her about the Grounders, about the Commander, but you'd not taken it as far as you should have. Clarke is more than just your friend, she is the one you worship, the one you'd fall to your knees and die for.

And now, Clarke is lost to the forest, to the destruction of her decaying mental health.

Your thoughts drift back to the Commander, before you ponder Clarke's state. You think about Echo, the Ice Nation prisoner you'd found in the Mountain. She talks of the Commander as heartless and cruel, something you already know too well. You tried to warn Clarke, to tell her that she's not someone to do business with, but to avoid. She's calculating, thinking numbers over figures. She rules from the sidelines, not on the battlefield. You clench your teeth as you think about what she must've looked like as she'd walked away. Had she been happy? Proud? Something in the deep, rumbling pit of your gut aches for vengeance, for Maya, for Jasper, for Clarke. You want them to be given the rest they deserve, even if two of them aren't dead. Maybe not really dead, but inside?

You have no idea.

You think back to the first time you saw Clarke kill a man. You remember how you'd been too weak to even grip the blade at Adam's neck as he pleaded for you to end his misery. You remember the sweet, soothing lullaby as she'd told him how she was going to help, that it was going to be okay. She gently let him bleed while singing. Never once, did she break. You almost smile when you realize that Clarke Griffin does not break. She is the monument that stands tall and provides hope for your people. She is the beacon of strength that leads you to become the better person, to not act out like Jack from Lord of the Flies, but instead Ralph. And while Clarke is no Piggy, she's still the one steady reminder that kept you from losing it all this time. She's taken so much blood upon herself and now she's paying the price. She pulled that lever because no one else could've. You wouldn't have done it. Neither Lincoln or Raven or Octavia.

But you helped, and the thought isn't as comforting as you want it to be.

You glance over to Jasper, sitting with his head in his hands. Monty is there, stoic and standing by his side as always, but you know that this is one thing that he cannot fix. He's smart, but he's no God. You feel a pang in your heart when you see Monty place his hand upon your friend's shoulder, rubbing into it softly. You remember when they'd both been two junkie nerds that got spaced, the runts of the pack, once deemed weak because of their lack of strength. But, as you look at them now, sitting together in silent comfort, solidarity, you realize that Octavia was right all those months ago; they're the strongest of all.

Clarke would be proud of them.

But you don't want Clarke to just be proud, you want her to be at peace. You want to find her happiness and hand it back to her with tender hands. But your hands are not tender or sweet, instead caked in blood. Just like Clarke's after she'd put a bullet into Dante's chest. Clarke was once a girl, who got in trouble because she had a _secret_ , not because she took a life. She was a girl who's father found the truth and put you all down here to fight for your lives. Sometimes, you wonder if it would've been better if you'd just stayed on the Ark. If you'd found a way to get Octavia and die in Sector 17, slowly and painlessly.

But you are not so lucky.

This earth is not so lucky, either. Then, you remember Clarke, and you know that you can have your vengeance.

You brush past Abby and Kane with a grunt, making your way over to where you know you will get the support you need for this mission. You walk with a purpose as you burst through the doors to find Lincoln and Octavia chatting quietly outside the healing tent where Raven lies. You see Echo lingering nearby, watching you with curious, concerned eyes. You haven't bothered to clean the blood from your face, nor have you cared to change your clothes or even bathe.

"Bellamy?" Lincoln asks, his head cocked in confusion at the glistening rage in your glare. "Is there something you need?"

"Take me to her," you demand coldly as you glance to Echo over his shoulder, "take me to the Commander."

 

**Lexa**

 

There are ghosts in your tent.

Your father is watching you, four arrows still lodged in his back from where he'd been murdered in order to save you. Costia sits by the table, her knees swinging over the edge, her white eyes watching as her neck stretches and splits. Gustus is in the corner, peering at you with his dark, knowing eyes, his body cut and bled. Anya is standing at your side, stoic and composed, but her frame is marred by burns and lacerations that render her almost unrecognizable. And now, you wait for Clarke to join your collection of people you've betrayed. You wonder, will she come in pieces like Costia? Perhaps burned like Anya? Maybe sliced to shreds like Gustus? You shudder as you think about all the blood on her hands, on your hands. You are sitting in your throne, staring at your general. The wind whistles against the flaps behind her.

Outside, your people are rejoicing, thinking that you'd taken down the Mountain. They do not know how you had cheated them of death.

"Heda," Indra says with a grunt, her hand gripping the hilt of her sword tightly. "Our warriors wish to know what happened at the Mountain."

You don't answer, but instead keep staring at a fixture on your tent flap over her shoulder. Costia's swinging legs are getting distracting. Your father's arrows prickle against your face as he shifts beside you. Anya's hand rests on your own bicep, and for a faint moment, you can feel the gentlest of squeezes.

"Let them rest," you tell her dryly, your voice lacking conviction. You are so tired. "We have survived. We have won. That is all they must know."

"And of the Sky People?" Indra asks, raising her brow. She's asking a loaded question, one you know she's reframed because you cannot be weak.

_What of Clarke?_

"Send a scouting party," you offer instead, bowing your head slightly. Costia snorts in the background, displeased with your answer. Indra nods and grunts before growing quiet once more. She stares at you up and down, your body crumpled in the chair and your hands fiddling with your dagger.

"Heda," Indra urges, trying to communicate without using the words you both skirt around, "do you-"

"No," you reply in short, glancing up to glare at her, "leave me."

Indra hesitates, but you stand and grip your dagger tighter than before.

"Now, Indra. That's an order," you bark out softly, your voice betraying you as the faintest of cracks comes upon the last word. Indra's gaze flickers worriedly for a fleeting moment before she sets her jaw and nods, turning on her heel and exiting your tent. You can hear her speaking to Penn about taking guard and you almost chuckle. You would, if the ghosts weren't in the room. Indra was never the motherly type, always the older, bossy sister kind. She and Anya practically raised you after you'd been deemed to become the next Commander. They were never your _nomons_ , but your _sises_. You see her shadow under the tent but it gives you little comfort.

Turning away, you pace around your room. It suddenly feels so small without Clarke here. A few of her old clothes are abandoned in the corner, having left them before you'd marched on the Mountain. You resist the temptation to walk over and reach for them, to take in her scent because it's all you have of her now. 

Until she becomes a ghost like the rest of them.

You shake the feeling of Clarke being dead from your conscious. No, you _try_ to shake it and you fail. The kiss lingers in your mind, burning your lips as you're forced to return back to your throne. It wouldn't have mattered anyways, she hadn't been ready (but what about _after_ , when you're both healing each other with careful hands?) and even if she returns, you ruined her. You slump back down and stare upwards when your eyes start to well. Heda does not cry, and so you push it down. Just like you'd pushed it down with Anya (that's a lie, and you know it) and Gustus (another lie - _you're a liar, Lexa_ , she'd said to you as she pushed you against the table, _I know you felt something_ \- and you do, you are _always_ feeling no matter how much you convince yourself otherwise). You gulp down the brewing pit of anxiety and sadness welling in your chest as the gnawing voice in the back of your head laughs at how you once again lost another friend. Another _love_.

You're pretty good at it. Losing people.

You remember when you told her after the loss of Finn, that the decision she'd make would haunt her until she draws her final breath. You wonder if she knew that you were talking from your own life, from all the times you'd let someone slip from between your arms and into the passing. You wonder if she knows how much you hate yourself, or how much you wish you could have one day - even one minute - to slip away and feel, even if it's a weak thing to do. You glance up at Costia, who stares at you with such muddled blue eyes. Her once calm and strong figure is dwindling down with your hope and your honour.

"I'm not the same," you tell her as she stays silent. "I can't be that person anymore. It was because of _her_ that I lost you."

Costia doesn't say anything, and it infuriates you.

"You chose with your head, Heda," Anya tells you strongly. "It is unwise to think back on the past."

The past is what has become the future. It's the same thing: fighting, blood, and death. The world revolves around taking tiny parts of you and cutting them out. You don't know how much of you there is left, if you're even capable of leading anymore. You are Heda, you try to convince yourself as the tears try to sneak up once more. Anya's ghostly grip on your bicep grows stronger, as if to remind you that tears are not welcome, not now. Not while you still have people to lead.

"Your coalition is what matters," Gustus says, "not the _Skaï prisa_."

"Clarke," you whisper her name, swallowing the lump in your throat as you look to the dagger in your hands. "Will she ever forgive me?"

You look back up to Costia, breathing harder and more uneven than before. "Do _you_ forgive me?"

Silence.

You close your eyes and sigh, unable to glance at her. You fumble with the dagger in your hands until it slips out of your grip and falls with a light thud to the ground. You don't open your eyes to grab it. Instead, you take comfort in the darkness. You remember a time in which you'd once wished to be blind, because the world you saw scared you, hurt you, made you feel things that caused your stomach to turn and head to spin. You'd screamed to be heartless (truly heartless, not what you are now) so that you would not feel the guilt that lingers or the burdens that threaten to send you into the earth with their immeasurable weights. You'd pleaded with the Spirits above to be mute, so you cannot order people to their deaths or make decisions that a girl your age never should've been forced to do. You'd wished to be deaf so you couldn't hear their screams when you'd kill them or as you failed to save them.

It took you awhile before you learned the difference between the two - between watching a man die and being the one to end his life.

You wonder which one Clarke will plague you with when she joins those around you.

You blink open your eyes to find the ghosts gone. 

Alone, again.

You are always alone. At the end of the day, you make decisions that benefit your people and not yourself. You cannot allow yourself to take pleasure in anything, not without knowing if it will bring pleasure to others. But it's funny, you always thought, that you can take pain regardless of your people. If you are to burn at the stake, they will light the fire. If you bring them to war, they will charge behind you. If you save their lives, they will cry your name. Some part of you wants to take in the little victories, but you can't feel anything anymore. Not happiness, not relief, not even the prickle of your own skin.

"But what of _love_?"

When you hear Costia's voice, that calming rasp in her whispered words, you feel _everything_ again.

You think about the time you'd first met, of her soft hands and gentle voice. You imagine her the way you imagine the summer festival at Polis. Bright, vibrant, full of life and appreciation for love. You remember how tender her lips fitted against yours, the swiping arc of her tongue as she'd pulled you into her tent when you were no less than fifteen summers. You'd both been young, reckless. Finding spots to crave desires, find safety, and silence. Your touches were fumbles, your lips leaving giggles at misplaced kisses and unheard sounds. Your legs were tangled like vines, unwilling to part for the sake of the night's safety.

But even then, under the warm blanket and tightly wound in her arms, there were always ghosts.

 _"Hodnes laik kwelnes,"_ you whisper as you slam your dagger down into your throne. The wind bristles against the tent once more.

Costia does not speak again.

 

**Raven**

 

Your eyes remain glued to the ceiling.

Kane watches over you, trying to remain calm, but you've been silent for days. You can't feel anything except the dull burn at the base of your spine. In someways, you wish that'd you died on that Mountain. Maybe then you can be with Finn, to ask for his forgiveness and love. You blink again, happy to find that no tears leak out this time. You refuse to cry, to be weak. You refuse to let them win. You hear murmurings outside of Bellamy, Lincoln, Echo, and Octavia going to seek out the Grounders - _Lexa_ \- for confrontation. You grit your teeth at the name of the woman that'd cut you open on the basis of blind belief.

She killed Finn. She ruined Clarke. 

You hate her.

"Will I walk again?" You ask Kane, the first words you've spoken in days. Your voice does not tremble, but it is scratchy and hoarse. He freezes. His gaze remains downtrodden, his fingers picking at a loose string on his shirt as he avoids your gaze. You're so fucking sick of people watching themselves around you.

"Will I walk again?" You repeat the question more tersely this time, surprised to see him actually look up and acknowledge you.

He knows what you're asking.

_Will I be okay again? Will I be able to feel the dirt between my toes? Will I live through this pain?_

_Will I ever feel anything but rage?_

He only takes a soft breath, dark eyes glazing with tears.

"I don't know," he whispers, but you both know.

That hurts more than anything, that you are not okay.

You might not _ever_ be okay.

 

**Clarke**

 

You find a family of deer in the woods a few days later. It makes you wonder about what Lexa had once told you, about how there is still life beyond war that rests in this planet. You are resting by a lake with a gorgeous waterfall, the night fading into view to bleed the skies a deep orange.

A sunset.

"I miss you," you whisper to the emptiness, hoping for a response. You're unsure of who it is for. Wells? Finn? Bellamy? Her? _Yourself_? "It's beautiful."

Tainted, but beautiful, like all things in your life now. Your father's murder was the first to change your views on beauty. Of how a man that was your best friend could've been betrayed by the one who'd birthed you. Wells was next. Finn. Raven. Bellamy. Octavia. Lincoln. The list is too long and too draining to think of right now, as you bask in the beating red skies in the distance. The water seems so cool and calm, so unaware of the destruction around you.

The fawn behind the deer lets out a soft mewl and tries to prance closer to its mother. The older deer only nuzzles its offspring's head with a fond rumble that reminds you of the birds that fly high above in the trees. It's a moment of peace, and for once, images of death, destruction, and betrayal do not flood your mind. You close your eyes so you may sleep, not haunted by your mistakes. It lasts a moment, this bliss, and then there's the screaming again.

You just want it to go away.

Something soft brushes your hand and you jerk your eyes open, your hands pulling at your gun with speed faster than a bullet. You look to see that it is no enemy, no ghost in the back of your head, but the fawn that'd been with the deer before. At the sight of you so aggressively standing, it cries out and bounds away on wobbly legs to its mother. The deers leave you as your gun lowers and your chest heaves. You feel savage, that you were about to shoot a child.

Scratch that, you have killed a child. Plenty of children.

"Please," you choke out as night blankets you, "I am sorry."

Forgiveness in the form of sleep, that's all you ask. A night in which you aren't plagued awake by terror. You just want to feel like the world is under your control, that you have some power over even the spaces between your breaths. You want to look to your palms and not see blood or pain, or even loss. You think of her again, so cold and detached from the ground upon she walks. She's the embodiment of strength in your eyes, no matter how much you convince yourself she's a traitor and a liar - that she _is_ weak. You know that she is like Atlas, the titan that'd held the world on his shoulders, bearing a million burdens so the people of his planet would not have to. Your lip quivers as you lean back and wonder if she ever had a chance at a normal life.

But then you think of Costia.

Of course, you've never met Costia. For all you know, Costia could be someone that she'd made up (the crack in her voice as she'd spoke says otherwise), a tactic or ploy which for her to encapsulate you (the faint shimmer of tears that nearly broke your heart doubts it). You wonder if she was ever different around Costia. Perhaps kinder, softer, more… weightless. You wonder if in her arms, she felt protected instead of always being the protector. You think about her as much as you hate yourself for it. Her eyes haunt you every day you walk, the green of the forest leaves reminding you of the sorrow in those depths. A sadness and grief that she'd tried desperately to cover for your sake. Her walls are titanium prison blocks, guarding the last bit of her own spirit (not Heda's) in an attempts to keep it from dwindling into nothing. Her soul is always so cold and lifeless, for all of her life is in her _people_ , not in her own body or mind.

The betrayal is still fresh, however. So to you, she is still soulless.

Even if you can't quite believe it.

 

**Bellamy**

 

You watch as Echo leads you through a patch of the forest, her eyes trained on the goal of returning to the Woods Clan. Lincoln and Octavia are behind you, whispering murmurings of worry. They have been exiled by the Grounders, and if it had not been for Octavia, you're certain that Lincoln would be dead - executed by the ruthless Heda. You hold back the urge to spit at the thought of her arrogant face. You go to think about her some more, when Echo stops.

"We're here," she says as she dismounts her horse. "Come, Bellamy."

"And us?" Octavia asks. You know that she wants to give Lexa a piece of her mind. Lincoln seems just as set.

"Heda will kill you on sight," Echo snaps as you stand beside her. "We will go to her and Bellamy will make the proposition."

"She better fucking comply," Octavia growls as she looks to you. "I want her to pay for what she did to us, Bellamy. To _Clarke_."

You know that she still doesn't like Clarke. You can see it in her eyes, but her hatred for Lexa is far more than that of your friend. You nod but she does not smile. You turn to Echo and plead for her to lead the way. She nods and takes you through the brush. It is only when you are out of site from your sister and her boyfriend does she stop and tug you into her arms. Her hands weave over your shoulders and she pulls you close, her mouth against your ear.

"What are you doing?" You hiss, wondering why she's stopping. Echo trails a hand down your back.

"You say that she loved Clarke?" She asks you, but you don't understand why. "That she felt something for your friend?"

"I don't know," you reply, your voice shaky. Echo clutches you tighter.

She knows.

"It's time we pay Heda a visit," she whispers, her voice sinister and dripping with blood. You feel that rage swell again at the thought of Clarke.

She breaks from you as you part through a few more trees. You glance upwards when a few leaves hit your shoulders, and you see them in the trees. Now it makes sense as to why she'd held you so close, talked so softly. She has a plan. You smile darkly as she leads you to the front gates. You half expect the guards to attack you, but instead they let you pass. You look to their faces to see nothing. A blank slate, void of feeling or emotion. You resist the urge to snort. 

They are nothing but animals to you.

You pass a few children playing in the dirt as you are led to the Commander's tent. Indra stands guard, her gaze wary as she eyes you approaching. You go to talk, but Echo steps in front of you. At the sight of her, Indra visibly tenses, like she almost dreads the sight of the other Grounder. Echo's head jerks up proudly, a sneer plastering her lips as she demands something in _Trigedasleng_ that you don't understand. Indra waits a moment before she steps back and nods. She follows you both into the tent where you see her, sitting upon that retched throne like she owns the planet meant for all your people. 

Yet, when you look into her eyes, her expression is harrowed for a split second. 

And then, the mask falls back into place.

"I see you survived the Mountain," the Commander tells you, but she is not harsh in her tone. You can see her searching for Clarke, and the faint glance of grief that passes through her green eyes when she realizes it's just you and Echo. "Your people are strong, _Belomi Bleik kom Skaïkru._ "

"Our people are dead," you spit out, resisting the urge to step forward and throttle her, "because of you."

"My people have lived longer on this earth than yours," Lexa says with feigned nonchalance, her gaze turning to her knife. "I serve to protect them. My spirit destined to ensure their safety. Victory stands on the back of sacrifice, Bellamy. A sacrifice that your people have made, a sacrifice that I honour." You see her jaw tensing as she stands.

"You _have_ no honour," you spit out in a harsh snort, "you're a traitor and a coward."

Indra goes to move, a snarl already forming on her lips but Lexa throws her hand up. Her general reluctantly stands down, her burning gaze still glaring into your own eyes dark enough to make you shudder. You watch as she slides her sword back into her sheathe and stiffens. Lexa continues to look between you and Echo with a passive, almost neutral expression. It's like she's trying to read you, to reach inside and grab at every vulnerable fear you have and fish them out.

After some silence, she asks the question that tears you apart.

"Where is Clarke?" Her voice is softer than usual, as it always is when speaking of Clarke. You stiffen. _She's alive but she's not living. She's missing, torn apart by her decision, haunted and harrowed with guilt,_ you want to bitterly spit at her, _she's ruined by you and your savage ways. She murdered to save people. The blood on her hands is permanent because of you._

Instead you coldly reply, " _Clarke_ is dead, Commander. You killed her."

 

**Lexa**

 

Clarke is dead.

You can see Bellamy standing like he wants to tear your throat out, or perhaps for you to face a death by a thousand cuts, but he doesn't move. Your body is cold and weak, exhausted from being broken time and time again, only to be rebuilt haphazardly so you can be broken once more. You don't want to believe him, but you know that Clarke would've done anything to ensure the safety of her people. She's a martyr in ever sense of the word. She gives it meaning. You'd underestimated her, respected her, _fallen_   _hopelessly_ for her. You shake your head and clear your grief. It is done. Your heart seals up once more.

 _Clarke is dead_ , Bellamy's voice repeats like a broken tune in your mind, _you killed her._

"That is…," you struggle to find a word. You know you can't, so you settle for, "unfortunate. Her loss will not be counted in vain."

"That's it?" Bellamy demands in a hiss. "You _love_ her. You kissed her and then stabbed her in the back."

Indra's eyes flash to you in a second at his accusation. She goes to move, her hand strong around the hilt of her sword but you throw your hand up again because he speaks true. You _did_ kill her. You knew the repercussions long before you left her at the gate. You wish that you could've saved her, that this hadn't ended in blood, but instead a victory for both your people. You would've taken her to Polis to celebrate, maybe shown her the good the world secretly hides away. Perhaps she would've kissed you again, maybe this time with less angst and more assurance. Maybe, just maybe, in the comfort of a roaring fire and closed room, both of you could've abandoned your titles and the burdens associated with them and just _be_. Instead, her blood joins the others on your palms, settling into the cracks of your skin like it was always meant to reside here. You blink slowly and carefully as Echo steps beside the man with fire in his eyes.

"What would you make me do?" You whisper, your throat bobbing. "I cannot bring her back. I have a duty to my people. Clarke is not my people."

But you wanted her to be. Oh, how you wanted Clarke to be _yours_.

"No," Bellamy says with a shake of his head, "but she was one of _mine_." Your eyes flash when you see Echo smile slightly from his side. You know her, from her cold brown eyes that remind you of the forest in which you'd been abandoned. You do not shiver in her presence, but you are smart. You know where she is from, what she seeks. Clarke's death has come with great disdain to your heart and consequences to your decision. There are _always_ consequences.

You see Costia's head roll between your feet, eyes soulless and neck severed. Blood.

Always blood.

"I believe that you have a saying, Commander," Bellamy speaks with gritted teeth. " _Jus drein, jus daun._ "

"Blood must have blood," you repeat in English as Indra's eyes narrow. "You came to seek vengeance for her loss?"

"For my people," Bellamy corrects you. "Not just for Clarke, but for those elders, children - for the families we'd never have. All lost because of you."

"You wish for me to spill my blood," you say with a slight smirk. It is a wild proposition for a _Skaïkru_ to ask such a thing. You almost want to laugh. "If you kill me, my people will kill you, _Belomi_. What ever people that remain from the sky will be burned to the ground. They are loyal to me." Echo lets out a breath.

"Not all of them, Heda," she spits your name as she steps up to meet you. "Your action against the _Skaïkru_ makes you weak. You ran like a coward, not a Commander. Your blood will not come by their hands, but _ours_." Indra snarls at her and leaps forward, her sword drawn and raised above her head.

" _Branwada_!" She snarls as she swings the blade at Echo, "you will die for speaking out against your _Heda_." 

Before the blade strikes her, you catch it in your hand. You don't flinch as the metal slices your palm and fingers until a sheen of blood coats the sword. Indra stops and looks at you, furious for your action, but your eyes are trained on Bellamy. He stares at you like you're savage, ruthless, heartless.

Maybe you are.

" _Azgeda_  signed the truce we made with _Skaïkru_ ," you say as the blood freely drips from your palms. You are still clutching Indra's blade tightly as Echo refuses to look away from your smouldering glare. "Your _Kwin_ has no quarrel with me… not yet. Do not start another war, _goufa_. It is not in your best interests to challenge me." Echo almost laughs in your face when you lower the blade, still not letting go. You trust Indra, but you need to show strength. 

"And you broke that truce when you left the Mountain," Echo says slyly, her brows narrowing. " _Belomi_ speaks true. _Jus drein, jus daun._ "

"How dare you…," Indra growls as she grips her sword's hilt tighter. "You cannot demand such a thing."

"Can I not?" Echo asks, still staring at your pensive face. "The people in the Mountain that died were of _Azgeda_. You killed my own, _Heda_."

"You call treason?" Indra asks, aghast. "You have no proof."

"Yes she does," Bellamy interjects, looking to your general with a growl. "I was in those cages. I saw them all."

"Your quarrel _is_ with the _Kwin_ , Commander," Echo sneers as she steps forward. "You have turned your back on us just like you'd done to the _Skaïkru_. You are the  _natrona_ , not us. You believe in honour and pride, but will not take a blade when it is due. You did the same when we'd demanded to your intentions. Then, you gave up Costia. Tell me, _Heda_ , how many more people have to die so that you can continue this charade of feigned leadership? You are doused in blood. It is time that you give it back to the people. _My_ people. For too long have we suffered under your brutality. I will tell you once more.  _Jus drein, jus daun._ "

The sheer mention of Costia brings you back to when you were just over sixteen. When Atohl's guard had delivered the sack in your hands. He'd smirked at you with a proud grin as he told you of how you'd wanted to see her, wanted her back, and how there she was in your lap. You'd stared into those lifeless eyes, dark blues that had once wanted peace and love, for there to be harmony instead of blood and war, and how every ounce of _Leksa_  had died with her in the Queen's chambers. You remember how you'd risen and told him of how _blood must have blood_ , that your efforts to bring _Azegda_ to a peaceful compromise were over.

You wanted all of their blood for hers. You got it.

To this day, it's still not enough.

So, as you let go of Indra's sword and nod, you know that this is your penance. Your general is demanding you to reconsider, to not act on weakness, but you are so terribly weak. You can hide it with your kohl, or with eyes made of stone, but you know that deep down, you lost your strength with your lover's death.

Your father was murdered before your eyes, your mother abandoned you for dead and you lived on, but that is not strength. You have killed a thousand men before you'd even entered adulthood, but that is not strength. You have allied twelve clans in a coalition, but that is not strength. You lost your men to the Mountain for years and continued to lead, but that is not _strength_. You are _Heda_ , and whatever power you have left comes with the spirit of your predecessor.

You wonder if he had been as torn and broken as you. If he had been strong.

You have no time for these thoughts, for you have to give an answer. _There is always an answer_ , Costia had once told you, that if there is a will then there is a way. Costia was optimistic and forgiving, but you are not. You wonder if you ever will be. Echo is not wrong, and that is what shatters you. The clans will fall apart without your coalition, so you know you must do something to ensure their safety. You are _Heda_ after all. Your job is to protect them above yourself.

"I will face the trials of _Heda_ ," you tell Echo coldly, "but when I pass, do not expect me to grant you such kindness again, _goufa_."

" _If_ you pass, _Heda_ ," Echo says with a slight laugh. "Not when." 

They turn and leave without any further word, leaving you alone with Indra. You expect her to protest and argue your decision once more, but instead, as you let your palm unclench from around her sword, she reaches out and takes your hand in hers. You frown and glance over to her as she turns your fingers over to examine the cut. You stay quiet and watching, holding it together as she grabs some bandages and salve before setting about cleaning it up.

"You will need stitches," Indra mutters softly, "I will send for Nyko to-"

"Indra," you say her name softly, your voice cracking. _Stay strong_ , you plead, but that fight is over. The last of your strength ended with Clarke.

"I will fight," you whisper as she removes your hand. You bow your head and look away, clenching your jaw tightly. "But I am _haunted_ , Indra."

And then, the quietest of acknowledgements comes from her lips when she murmurs, "I know."

You both stand for awhile in silence before she excuses herself to find Nyko, leaving you alone in the room. When you turn around, your table of ghosts are waiting and watching, their eyes mournful and grey. You wish they were here, that they were real so that you could really hear them, not just the voices you construe in your head. You glance at Costia, your fingers itching to somehow recall the sensation of her soft blonde hair, but it's been so long, too long. You look over at Anya and Gustus, who stare at you like you're that child they'd found so many years ago, barely able to craft a bow or speak English. 

And then you glance at your father, who looks at you with so much pain it breaks your heart.

You pose the question again, to all of them.

"Do you forgive me?"

_Because I don't forgive myself._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys liked the first chapter! :)
> 
> Find me on tumblr @ a-class-act-president.


	2. i never bled for a thousand lies, just to stem the flow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i never wept over a thousand lives, just to let this go

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is gonna be slightly AU of Lexa's storyline and what happens in the coming months. I always thought that it would be cool if Lexa and Lincoln were really close at one point, so I decided to run with it and see where it took me. Anyways, I hope this isn't too far of a stretch, haha. Also, who else is pumped for season three??
> 
> Thanks so much for the kudos and comments! They're much appreciated! :D
> 
> The song I was writing this chapter to is "Stakes" by Vancouver Sleep Clinic :)

 

 **Clarke**  

 

It isn't until three months travelling on your own, surviving through hunting rabbits and spearing fish, forging tree shelters that aren't enough to house warmth in your harrowed bones, that you are found by a small clan of Grounders. At first, they are confused by you, obviously having known who you are for sometime now. They know, by the awe that sickens you in their eyes, that you killed the Mountain Men, and that because of you, their people are alive and well. They're flourishing and rejoicing over a victory that they didn't even reap themselves. You wonder if the Commander claimed the win for herself. You sneer at the thought. You stare each of them down as one of the warriors in a patrol approaches you. He is tall and bulky, with a beard that reminds you of Gustus. At the thought of the man that'd threatened to slit your throat upon drinking with his Heda, you shiver. He'd gone so far as to kill himself to protect her from you.

In a sense, you feel guilty that Bellamy exposed him. That you let her kill him.

" _Klark kom Skaïkru_ ," the man says, a voice deeper than the growls of  _pauna_ , "what brings you to our lands?"

"Nothing," you reply with the grit of your teeth. They grind like un-oiled cogs in your mouth, threatening to chip away at the burdens buried deep within your roots. You stand a little straighter (which is a task in itself, considering you have not eaten much in the last few days) and pierce him with a steady stare.

You don't want this. You don't want them.

But you need them.

_I need your spirit to stay where it is._

" _Ai gaf gouthru klir_ ," you tell him, trying to keep your voice steady. He frowns slightly, eyes raking over your tattered clothing, still stained with blood from the Mountain. He looks back at his warriors, who seem equally confused. There's a moment in which you consider taking his spear and making him move, but then his head turns back to you and he smiles. It's a rare sight, one that makes you believe you've lost your mind (maybe you're a reaper, too) and swallow hard.

"Klark," he replies gently, "we will grant you safe passage, but if I may insist, you must stay for food and lodgement. Perhaps see the healer, too." He rakes his gaze over your body, grimacing at the grime caked onto your skin. You don't even react to the hushed whispering of the warriors behind him.

Reaper. For sure. 

"You hate the Sky People," you say, still in disbelief.  _No Sky Person leaves this room._

"Go. Away." You hiss the words, even though they're not meant for the man in front of you. Over your shoulder, you can see those bodies, the children, Finn, the people of TonDC. You shiver as they haunt you with their chilling stares, hands outstretched and reaching for you. They've been chasing you for days, these ghosts, but you can't seem to shake them away. You take a deep breath and step backwards, angry tears springing to your eyes as you take a deep breath. Finn's eyes are lifeless and cold, his front still splayed with blood. You look down to your hand and half expect to see the knife Raven had given you.

Yet, there's nothing there but imaginary blood.

"No," the man says, shaking his head as you snap from your daze. "Not after your sacrifice. You and Heda saved our people. You will get help."

 _Your people_ , you want to tell him bitterly,  _my people are dead. I killed them._ They were your friends, people that built the drop ship from nothing but rusted metal and teamwork. You worked with these people, protected them in the ring of fire that killed three hundred Grounders. You were their friend once. You glance up to see Finn and the others gone, erased by the endless forest. You shake your head again and the man grunts, obviously still lost in his concern.

"I told you," you whisper, reaching into your holster for your gun, "I don't want this. I don't want you or your help."

"You need help," the man urges, stepping forward. You whip the gun out and aim it at him with a shaking hand. The men behind him draw their weapons and gasp in confusion, but their leader only holds up his hand and shakes his head. You continue to shake, a cry ripping from your mouth as you stare him down. He inches closer and you almost feel the urge to pull the trigger. The reminder of the betrayal, of how these people left you at the Mountain rush through.

But before you can shoot, Finn's hand comes over yours. You look to the side to see that familiar lifeless gaze, speechless in his presence as he presses on your hand. You feel your arms lowering and your knees crumbling as you fall to the ground in wailing, weeping mess. You scream at him, because why is he still here and haunting you when you've killed so many other people. You killed them for a reason, in which you'd failed to save them. You could've saved them.

"War is a dark place," the man murmurs as he kneels beside you. "The pain of loss does not ease."

"Who are you?" You ask in distraction from your rapidly declining mental state, your throat scratchy from holding back tears because the memories are closing in now. Your lungs contract and you feel breaths coming out faster than they are going in. He places his hand on yours, drawing your attention to him. He smiles again and nods. You look to his hand, to the warriors murmuring and whispering behind him, and then you look back to his gentle dark eyes.

"Consider me…," he ponders a moment, as if he'd forgotten the word in English. Then he licks his lips, "a friend."

You have no friends.

"Come,  _Klark kom Skaïkru_ ," he tells you with a booming voice. "We shall prepare a feast in your name."

You glance up, and through the leaves, you see her with the glass in her hands. She tilts it upwards and drinks, but does not die.

Why didn't she die?

 

**Raven**

 

You took your first step today.

The new brace Wick built is great. It's formidable, actually. You have about thirty-percent control over your leg, but at least you're not on the bed. Abby's recovery was faster, and as you watch her bouncing around the medical bay dealing with patients, you feel a pang of loss with the thought of your own mother. You look at the two bars between your shoulders, where your hands are wrapped around the steel in a white-knuckled grip. You take a breath and inch your leg further again. The limb complies, but as soon as it moves a fiery lance of agony whips down your spine and into your toes.

"Shit," you snarl as you feel your limbs quivering. You go to move your arms, but your grip is too slippery. You fall, but before you hit the ground, Kane's arms are wrapped around your torso, lifting you and carrying you back to the retched bed. You try to fight his grip but you're not strong enough.

Lincoln, Octavia, and Bellamy are gone. You weren't strong enough to follow. You're not strong enough to repair the comm hub. You're not strong enough to take a fucking step on your own. You're not strong enough to be look Abby in the eye and tell her that you've started losing feeling in your left leg again.

You're not strong enough to be _alive_.

"Time," Kane whispers to you as he settles you on the bed with a soothing hum, "it all takes time, Raven."

"My friends are out there," you snarl at him, "they don't _have_ time."

"The kids will be alright," Abby's soft voice pipes up from behind him. You stare at her with a cold glare, turning on your side to avoid their stares.

"Not all of them," you mutter sadly, unable to curl your legs up to your chest. "Not me."

"Raven," Abby whispers as she settles down beside you. "I'm worried about you. I know that these last few months have been excruciating on all of us, especially you. I know that you wanted to go to help your friends, but I am afraid that all of this is breaking down on you. I need you to be okay, sweetheart."

"Don't call me that," you snap as you glare at her over your shoulder. You sit up so that you can lean your back against the frame of the bed. "Don't act like I'm your daughter just because yours is gone. I'm not anyone's second choice. I came first for everyone. I am tired of being left behind, Abby. I'm fucking tired of being the only one who gets shot, or gets tortured, or has this fucking surgery that doesn't allow me to use my fucking legs. I am so fucking _tired_!"

"Please," Abby tries to protest, but you shake your head and grit your teeth.

"No, they're either out there probably watching the fucking two-faced Commander get ripped apart for what she did to us, or they could be dead for trying," you say with a harsh snarl. "Clarke could be dead too, for all we know. God knows how fucked up Jasper is after losing Maya. Monty is the only one else who'd been in that room and no one has been bothered to reach out to him, either. Harper and Miller are still recovering. Yet, all you could be bothered about is creating your political white lies. The kids are not fucking alright, Abby. We all _killed_ people to save ourselves. We're not alright. We won't ever be _alright_." You're shaking harder now, a sheen layer of sweat accumulating atop your brow from the excess strain on your still healing body.

"You need me to be okay?" You ask, echoing her question with a cruel growl. "Then fix my damned leg so I can go out there and fucking slice the bitch that made us lose our friends, our minds, and our lives." Kane looks to Abby and they both sigh. You only shake your head and huff out in disgust, unable to look at them.

"Clarke killed innocent people. That rat-faced Commander is the fault behind the downfall of your daughter, Abby. She's the reason why Clarke didn't warn you about the missile in TonDC," you say the words that you know she's been feeling deep down. You shake your head, still glaring at her. "And then, she just gets to leave, because that's okay, right? It's okay to kill a bunch of people and then leave. What bets you she's off with that traitor Grounder and they're living their own fucking life now. Because that's what it feels like. Everyone just fucking left after the Mountain. We saved ourselves physically, but up here…," you point to your head and laugh sadistically, tears straining to fall from your eyes now, " _up here_ we're all fucked up, Abby. Your daughter did this. We should've stopped before she killed Finn." The Chancellor does not speak, but instead processes your words slowly and deliberately. Her cheeks are damp with tears from your words.

"You're right," she whispers hoarsely, "but Clarke is gone, Raven. I can't do anything about that."

"Not just about _that_ ," you sneer with deep hostility. "We should've fought back. We shouldn't have let them take him."

"Raven," Kane breathes out, shocked at your outbursts. His eyes are warm with care, but you don't want any of it. You shove his outstretched hand away and shake your head, clearing your eyes of the tears that threaten to burst from the confines. You turn back on your side and draw a deep breath, calming the demons that fester inside of you. With a strong hand, you grip the sheets and let loose a silent scream as the tears run down your cheeks. You can't stop them from rolling off your chin, or the strong hands of Abby rubbing your back over your damp shirt. You can't stop Kane telling the nurse to get a shot.

You're broken now. You can't stop _anything_.

 

**Lincoln**

 

"You wanted an audience with her?" Atohl asks you gruffly, shoving you slightly into the small, dank hallway. You look at him with a nod before staring at the door. You watch as Atohl nods at one of the guards, who opens the door quickly. You seat yourself on the chair and wait patiently. Atohl mutters something to his guard and you hear an affirmative nod from the man. He walks over to the other end of the room and opens the door. 

You can't hold back your gasp.

"You wished to see her?" Atohl laughs as the door closes behind him. "Here is your pathetic Commander, Lincoln."

Lexa refuses to be shoved around, to look weak, as she is seated on the chair across from you. Her head remains prideful and strong, green eyes sharply staring into your own as if to challenge you. This is the woman that you once called your sister. The woman that'd hunted with you for the first time and nearly got trapped in her own spring. This is the woman who'd protected you from an arrow to the head by taking it to her leg. This is the woman you'd once fought for.

This is the woman who left you to die on that Mountain.

Her right eye is swollen and purple. Dried blood cakes her brow and there's small scars around her neck. Her uniform is tattered, revealing old scars underneath the fabric. You make out a few of her tattoos, some broken by new cuts. As you stare at her, Lexa watches you with a blank gaze. She's not judging you, nor is she being bothered to alert you of your wandering gaze. She only watches, as Lexa has always watched, in silence. You break from your assessment to nod at the guards. They don't budge, and instead look to the second in command of the Queen for orders. You growl and turn to face Atohl with a seething glare.

"Leave us," you bark out to Atohl. He doesn't look pleased at the order, especially coming from an exiled Grounder such as yourself, but at the barest flinch in the Commander's eyes has him grinning darkly. He nods at his guards and they leave you alone with the once great woman you'd called Heda.

"You have questions," Lexa states plainly, rolling her jaw before taking a breath. "About the deal."

You growl and rise from your seat, your arm outstretched as your hand wrings itself around her neck. You pick her up with ease, trying to ignore how lighter her body feels. You know that it's all muscle, but this is too light for muscle. You focus on the face of the murderer in front of you, the real traitor. You slam her against the door and grip her neck tighter. Tears burn at your eyes when you think of Octavia, of how happy she'd been when Indra had accepted her, trained her to be her _seken_. You remember when you'd been Indra's _seken_. You remember when you, Lexa, Tristen, and Costia would train together.

Now, only two of you remain, both on completely different sides of the war.

"Was it worth it?" You spit in her face, trying hide how your voice cracks, "was it worth them all dying so you could just run away?"

Lexa does not answer you. Instead, she remains silent and staring, eyes peered sharply and longly into your own waiting gaze. She remains in silence, the only evidence of her body's state of living being the slow bob of her throat against your palm. Lexa shifts slightly in your death-inducing hold, nodding her head forward a little so that your grip on her throat tightens. Your eyes widen slightly and you ease up, not giving her the chance to die so quickly. At your perceived thought of her intentions, Lexa laughs dryly and leans her head back again, closing her eyes as if she thinks that this is all some fucked up joke.

"Does this bring you pleasure?" She asks with a rasp, "my life in your hands? My spirit yours to kill? Hm, Lincoln? Do you wish my death, too?"

"You didn't answer my question," you snarl, shoving her against the wall harder, "you left us there. How? _Why_?"

"Are you one of them now?" Lexa asks cryptically, but you respond with another rough shove. "Did they give you a gun, too?"

"How could you leave us there?" You plead with her again, struggling to see some sort of reaction. "You just let them die. You _cared_ for them."

"Caring is a weakness," Lexa responds with a soft sigh, closing her eyes again. "Besides, death is not the end. They moved on, didn't they?"

"Stop ignoring me and answer the fucking question, _Leksa_!" You scream in her face, using the full weight of your body to slam her in the wall. You let go of her neck and she falls. Your chest heaves as you watch her huff against the concrete ground before rising to her feet. Her bound hands come up to wipe at the slow trickle of blood that drips down her nose before her eyes open. She looks at you coldly, harshly, like _you're_ the Mountain Men that'd bled her people dry.

"Carry the spirit of the Commander with you for one hour," Lexa says with a low growl, "and then ask me the same question again, Lincoln."

"I would've fought with Clarke," you say, bunching your hands into fists. "I know you felt something for her. I _know_ you, Lexa."

"You don't know me," Lexa hisses under her breath, her eyes glazing with fresh, angered tears, "not anymore. Not since I became Heda."

"Tell me you don't feel something for her," you growl in return, "tell me that she wasn't like Costia. That you didn't lo-"

"Enough," Lexa says with a firm voice, her shoulders tensing and her frame stiffening when you bring up the name of the girl that she'd slaughtered five hundred _Azgeda_ warriors for. You see the hostile stare in her eyes, one that burns with pain and loss and so much remorse. You shiver as she steps forward and snorts.

"You want to know a secret?" Lexa asks, her voice soft and barely audible. You stay rigid and strong, unwavering as she inches closer.

"They had my people surrounded," Lexa whispers, nodding her head downwards slightly. "Guns were on every one in front of that gate, Lincoln. They were going to kill everyone, inside and out. What Clarke did to her people would've been bare none compared to what Cage wanted to do to us. For too long have I seen my people die by their hands. For too long I felt their blood on my palms, their voices in my ear, their lost lives in my gut." You remain silent at the words, feeling your own tears burning at your eyes as you listen to her tell you about the deal that had saved more people than those lost in the Mountain.

"So tell me, Lincoln. Would you rather have fought and died - be mindlessly _slaughtered_ \- or would you rather have lived?" Lexa poses the question not out of harm, but curiosity. When you don't respond, she inches closer until her face is only a few millimetres before your own. Her breaths are heavy and laboured.

"Tell me," she pleads quietly, "so I may know if I have not done the right thing in keeping my people safe."

"Echo was right," you whisper as you back away, "to fight and die with honour, on our terms, is better than running like a coward."

The words were intended to spear her like a helpless animal, and you know that in some sense they have done exactly that. Lexa watches without a flinch as you shake your head at her, your gaze pierced to the ground as you fight back memories of your childhood together. You may not have all come from the same clans, but you knew each other from fighting, living, surviving like brothers and sisters. Lexa was the first Commander to rule with equity and equality, not hatred and vengeance. Even after she slaughtered five hundred warriors out of her own blood-lusted revenge, and then paid the price, she was still pure.

"Then I am glad that you shall be here to witness the repercussions of my mistake," Lexa responds coolly, not letting the unspoken words harm her soul. She looks so small, so unlike the powerful leader and woman you'd once admired years ago. You, Lexa, Costia - it was you three that questioned your people's ways. It was the three of you that thought maybe an alliance between the twelve clans would be beneficial in fighting the Mountain Men. She was your hero.

 _Was_.

"They're killing you, Lexa," you whisper as you start backing away to the door. You linger upon the step before turning. "You're just letting them _kill_ you." Lexa's face visibly tenses at your confession, but she licks over her broken, chapped lips and shakes her head. You want to run to her, to wrap your arms around her and soothe her the same way you'd held her after Costia's bloody head had been delivered to her throne. You want to protect the woman who always protected you, but you can't. You can't even look at her as she chokes back a cry and nods slowly instead. You want to ask her why, but she doesn't allow you the time.

"Two hundred and fifty deaths for TonDC," she whispers as she stands up straighter, "three hundred deaths for the drop ship. Eighteen lives at the massacre. Five hundred warriors at _Azgeda_. _Nomon_. _Nontu_. Tristen. Artigas. Gustus. Anya. Costia. _Clarke_." Her voice cracks on the last one as she looks up with a hard stare. You ignore how her lips are fighting from trembling. She steps forward and reaches out, placing her hand on your shoulder.

"I will not add your name, too." Lexa's words are soft, too soft. "What they are doing to me is what I deserve, Lincoln. You know that."

"You knew that the warriors inside the Mountain were from the Ice Nation," you tell her in response, watching as she curls her lip into her mouth and faintly nods. "Why did you not save them? Why did you let them die in there? You knew that this would happen, regardless of whether we honoured the truce."

"Because I sent them there to die," Lexa whispers quietly, her voice hitching with the admission. "Before the coalition, after all that blood… I…"

"How many?" You breathe out in shock, taking a step back as she continues to avoid your gaze. "How many of them were there, Lexa?"

"Ninety-seven," she says, tilting her head up to stare at you with a glint in her eyes. "I needed my revenge. I needed them to feel what I felt."

"And did you?" You snort in disgust, unable to believe that she would commit such a crime. You push aside the nagging voice in the back of your head that screams at you, crying at you to remember that she was only sixteen when it had happened. Her mind wasn't ready for the consequences of war. Lexa lets your words sink in, but you can see that her answer had already been made up before the words had even left your lips. She steps forwards, standing a bit straighter.

"I'll tell you what I once told Clarke," she whispers firmly, "no, I never did. It's never worth it."

"And what about this?" You ask, pointing around at the room, at her clothing and dishevelled state, "is  _this_ worth it?"

Lexa only hesitates a moment before she answers. "Yes."

"Then I hope to the Spirits that the next Commander isn't as naïve or foolish," you spit through gritted teeth. "Because you may have created the coalition, Lexa, but you also destroyed it. The clans are falling apart. They are killing each other just like they did before you created the treaty. You burned our only peace to the ground. We have no common enemy anymore, Lexa. There is no reason for us to be together. The Queen always wanted this. She wanted you to fail so that she could seize power. If she does, all you ever did for us will be for nothing. All the sacrifices, all those people you listed, will have died for nothing."

"Do you doubt my ability?" Lexa asks you with a cock of her head. "Do you think that I cannot pass the trials?"

"I think that you have put all your people at risk with what you are doing," you tell her honestly, not bothering to keep the bite out of your voice. "I think that you are being stupid, Lexa. You lost Clarke, so you think that it's suitable to lose yourself, too? I thought Anya and Gustus taught you better than that. What would they think if they saw you right now, giving up your life to appease the very woman who took everything from you? Would they be proud, would they _congratulate_ you on walking away from your people? Tell me, _Leska_. What exactly do you think you've managed to accomplish by doing this, by letting her _win_?" Lexa takes a breath as you grit your teeth and shake your head. You feel rage build up inside of you before you finally lose it and snap, taking your fist to a wall. Lexa shudders slightly at the ripple of your muscles and the blood that drips off your broken knuckles as you pull your hand back to your side.

You don't look at her when you whisper, "you were meant to be the good one. You were meant to change us, Lexa. It's what she wanted - what we _all_ wanted."

Lexa only sighs sadly and nods, her head dropping back to her chest. You erase the pity you feel brewing in your heart as the door swings open and two _Azgeda_ guards grab her and pull her into another hallway. When you turn back around, you see Atohl grinning at you like he'd just witnessed the massacre of a million Mountain Men himself. You remember when Octavia told you stories of his humour as a seken. But now, he's just as sadistic and cruel as the rest of them. You set your jaw and push past him, down to the lodgement where the Queen has you set up. You don't look back at the laughing guards.

Lexa made her choice and you've made yours.

 

**Bellamy**

 

You wait with Echo and Octavia as you walk through the Ice Palace. It's a grand place, and for a moment, you find yourself wondering why the other Grounders preferred the trees. You've lived here through the fall, long enough for you and Echo to watch the leaves turn colour and the cold set in. The Queen is surprisingly welcoming to the presence of your people, but perhaps since you delivered her the Commander like a boar on a spit, she has a reason to be grateful. She dresses you with fine clothing, and even allows you the use of your weapons. It's not like you're going to use them, but it's still strange.

"Where's Lincoln?" Your sister asks as she looks around for her boyfriend. You remember what he'd told you earlier, of having to meet with Atohl for a specific reason and you give Octavia a quick nudge. Echo oversees the entire exchange with a tight-lipped frown, but you don't shiver in her stare.

"He had to talk to Atohl," you respond, warily watching as Echo continues to stare at you. As Octavia goes to question you further, a grunted hello sounds from one end of the corridor behind you. The three of you turn to see the man in question walking towards you with heavy footsteps. He looks exhausted. As he grows nearer, you notice his knuckles slightly bloody and raw. You go to say something, but Lincoln shakes his head and flips his hand so the palm is up.

"What did you have to talk about?" Octavia asks as she wraps the former Grounder in a hug. Lincoln weaves his arms around her and grips tightly. He glances at Echo, but the girl remains silent and staring. After the muscled man releases your sister, he offers her a half-hearted smile that doesn't reach his eyes.

"I had to talk to him about our departure back to Camp Jaha," he says, though the slight edginess in his voice leads you to believe that he's lying. "The Queen says that once the trials are over, we are free to leave, but not without a talk with her first." You frown as you glance between your sister and Lincoln.

"Why would she want to talk with us?" You ask, perplexed. Echo snorts, finally making a noise since you'd been walking towards the courtyard. 

"She wants to talk about an alliance," Echo says with a wide grin. "She sees potential in your leadership skills, _Belomi_."

"Clarke is our leader," you tell her, gripping the handle of your rifle tighter to your body. Echo doesn't look the least bit scared, and you supposed she doesn't have to because the next words that enter the conversation come from your sister. 

"Clarke's been gone for three months," Octavia growls through gritted teeth. There's a grand amount of bitterness that seeps through her voice as she says, "she turned her back on us just like Lexa did. The Commander ruined her. When she chose to pull that lever, she stopped being our leader."

"Then that means I'm not your leader either," you reply tersely, "because I pulled it with her. Monty was in the room, too. We're all responsible."

"Not as responsible as _her_ ," Echo says, pointing to the wide set of doors, now opened to reveal your usual seats on the balcony. You bite your lip as she leads you to the seats, gesturing for you to sit down and get ready to watch yet another round of the primitive, savage trials. You let the gun rest at your side for good measure as Lincoln and Octavia take their seats beside you. Echo reaches over and squeezes your hand once, as if to remind you that you did a good job.

But this is not a good job. It's the same job that they always do. Even your people had done it on the Ark. It's all bloodshed. _An eye for an eye will leave the whole world blind_ , your mother had once told you. Then, you betrayed her when you killed all those children on the Mountain. You betrayed her when you beat Murphy to near death. You betrayed her when you let your sister get taken by Grounders. You betrayed her when you failed to save Atom the pain.

You betrayed her when you handed over the Commander to die.

"What is it today?" Octavia asks, her voice tired as it snaps you from your thoughts. You can see that it's all wearing down on her now, this decision. The guilt only further twists in your side when you see the red in her eyes from sleepless nights. Of dreams filled with blood and loss and pain. You sigh and bow your head, unable to look at her. You want to tell her you're sorry, but what could you possibly be sorry for? Avenging Clarke? Avenging the hundred? Why does it always boil down to vengeance? Octavia only scoffs and turns away at your lack of response, her gaze instead landing on a still-smirking Echo.

"She faces the black beast of the forest," Echo tells her without an ounce of pity in her voice. You cock your head.

"That gorilla?" You ask, confused. "I thought Clarke and Lex - the _Commander_ \- locked it away?" Echo notices your slip in speech but doesn't question you as she shakes her head. A horn sounds from outside the ring's walls - the trial is about to commence. You can see the crowd of Ice Nation Grounders in the stands of the ring, cheering for the disgraced Commander. They chant for her blood the same way they'd chanted for the blood of Finn before Clarke spared him.

"Not  _pauna_ ," Echo says as their voices grow louder. You used to love watching the fights, but vengeance has bled you dry. Many of the Commander's first fights were easy, with her spilling flesh like it had been water. Now, three months later, her body is tiring and weak. It used to be enjoyable, her pain, but now you are exhausted. There is a roar from the crowd as you watch the doors at one end of the ring open, revealing nothing but blackness.

Commander Lexa is thinner than she'd been three months ago, you note. Her muscles are still lean and fit, her skin bearing new scars that overlap old ones. Her eyes are cold and calculating, like she can fight this forever even when you know that despite some strange Grounder culture of Spirits, she is still human. She still bears her kohl, as if removing it would break the last walls she has built. Her movements are not yet sluggish and slow, but they are no longer swift. No longer cunning or tactful, but driven based on the need to survive. Even with her betrayal, the death of Finn and the burning of your people, you find a place in your heart that aches as she steps into a ring full of leering chants. Everyone here, everyone watching with gleaming eyes and bared teeth, their fists raised and voices chanting that blood must have blood, is keening for her violent, tortured death.

"If not  _pauna_ ," Lincoln's voice trails off beside your sister, his eyes trained on the Commander, "then what?" You can see something in his gaze darken, and you suddenly understand the blood on his knuckles. You feel your heart ache for him, because before you landed, you can't imagine what Lexa had once meant. You don't know how long he'd been on the fence about his people's rituals and behaviours, but Kane was right about Lexa. She had been different. 

You wonder what she means to Lincoln, if he's here and she's down there.

Echo does not have to answer his question as the door on the opposite end swings open. There is a loud growl that rips from the darkness, and you watch as five massive guards walk out with chains in their hands. The cheering of the crowd intensifies as they tug and pull, barking orders to their fellow warriors to bring out the beast. The people are stomping their feet now, creating a rumble in the stands. You are not excited this time. You are anxious. A fearsome roar erupts and the crowd raises their voices. You glance back to Lexa, standing in the ring with her face set on the beast she must face. There's no fear in her eyes.

"What… what is _that_?" Octavia's horrified voice breaks you from her, causing you to whip back to the other end of the ring.

It's a massive black monster, with claws the side of daggers, teeth as sharp as swords. There's a feral look in its black eyes as it roars again, trying to break free from the chains held down by five more guards in the back. You gulp in fear as the crowd roars harder when it sways its giant head back and forth, causing some saliva to splatter to the dusty ground. Lexa shifts on her feet but does not falter. You can see her calculating, thinking, strategizing. This is the woman who a week ago, survived six hundred lashes to her back. Four weeks ago, the carving of _natrona_  by the Ice Queen into her chest with heated blades. A month past, the slaughter of eighty-five warriors in one setting, in which she'd walked away, bloody but undefeated. She has survived so much, it makes you wonder what she perils has survived before you fell from the sky, before the world became steeped in destruction and complete annihilation. 

Echo had once said something about the arrival of the Sky People bringing an end to those on the ground.

Right now, you can't help but believe her.

"It is a bear," Echo says with a grin, shifting on her seat as if to get closer. You're almost sick at her grin. "It is one of the most vicious beasts in the forests that had been mutated by the Reapers. This one has served to kill all traitors that defy the Queen. No one has lived after its jaws meet with their flesh."

"Can she win this one?" Lincoln asks, glancing at the woman with a worried glance. His voice cracks with the question, like he already knows the answer.

There are the faint traces of tears in his eyes when Octavia squeezes his hand tightly. You remember the time you'd tortured him, strung him up and beat him senseless and how love, the love for your sister, had been the only thing that allowed him to break. You glance back at Lexa and swallow the lump in your throat. Lincoln takes a deep breath and tries to settle himself in the chair, but you know that he is scared for her life. Octavia clenches him harder, anchoring him.

"She is strong," Octavia says almost breathlessly before turning to Echo. "She's been through so much. Why can't they stop? Isn't this enough?"

"The trials are meant to prove Heda's worth," Echo snaps at her, and you suddenly see how much she's changed since having brought you here. Her eyes are cruel and cold, no longer wielding an unstrained amount of hope. Her hands curl around the rests of her chair. "If she passes the trials, she reigns true."

"Just how many are left?" Your sister asks, almost nervously. "You know, for her to face?"

"After this?" Echo responds with a grin. "Only one."

"That's it?" You ask. You were expecting her to say more, but Echo nods. 

"There are twelve clans, so Heda must face twelve weeks of trials," the Grounder tells you with a smirk. "Each are specific to the week. This week, she is to kill a bear that has resided in the forest outside our homes. Last week it had been the ordeal of boiling water. The week before was fire. Ice preceded that."

"Each trial represents a different clan," Lincoln murmurs from beside your sister. You look to Lexa, your eyes scouring over the faded burn scars on her right hand from reaching into the pot of water to retrieve the Queen's twelve stones. Ice had been the one you'd cringed at watching, in which they'd dunked her body, trapped in something similar to a straight-jacket, into the glass box of ice water. She'd escaped by the skin of her teeth, but her body suffered sickness. And even then, in those retched conditions, she was thrown a sword and made to face a horde of reapers until she killed every single one of them.

"But she's not just facing trials," Octavia swallows weakly, "they're torturing her when they do not bring her out." You can see Lincoln visibly tense at her words. 

"Heda paid her price," Echo snorts, waving her head nonchalantly. "Besides, this is not her first trial."

"It's not?" You ask, mouth parting slightly. Lincoln is quiet once more, but then he nods with a grave expression.

"The first time had been when she was sixteen," he murmurs distantly. Echo's eyes are dark and angered. "After the slaughter of the Ice Nation."

"No Heda has ever lived through the trials twice," Echo says, smirking again. "She will be no exception."

Somewhere, in the back of your mind, you scream for her to be wrong.

But why? Why do you suddenly feel so terrible about wanting the woman who betrayed all of you to live? Why is it that when you look at her, it makes you want to be sick or fall to the ground? You don't know how to feel about starting to see Lexa as less of a tyrant and more of a girl. You see her now as a girl, beaten and tortured sickly for some stupid rule that her ancestors created. You don't like Lexa, nor do you respect her, but this is too far even for a traitor. You know, in the very deep corners of your mind, that she'd done what she'd done for a reason. She hadn't been lying when she said that you would've done the same.

You and Clarke were leaders. Being a leader meant making the tough choices and living with the consequences.

When you look to Lexa, you finally realize that it wasn't just Clarke that was facing the repercussions of her decision. 

"What about the last trial?" Octavia asks, turning away as the bear struggles in its chains. You turn to Echo, too, anxious to know the answer.

"It is the most gruelling," Echo tells her as she settles back in her chair, watching the Atohl giving a speech, "it will either break or build our  _Heda_."

"What is it?" You ask again, apprehension clouding your thoughts. Lincoln draws a sharp breath, his jaw tense as he watches Lexa spinning her sword and tracing the bear's movements. You watch as his fingers graze over the scratches on his knuckles. Echo laughs and settles back in her chair, crossing her legs.

" _Holmgang_ ," she says with a vengeful grin, "the duels."

  

**Lexa**

 

The beast is unhanded when Atohl stops talking. 

You barely have time to side step as it charges for you, roaring and spitting. You bolster your stamina and roll out of its path, nearly dropping your sword in the process. You curse yourself for your lack of weapons. You have nothing but a sword and your light armour, but you are grateful that the weapon you wield is one familiar to you. The bear claws at the earth, digging up clouds of dust as it bears its teeth in a ferocious snarl. You stand up and prepare to attack when it moves again. You take a breath and count the steps as it runs to you, massive paws thundering hard enough to make the ground beneath you vibrate.

 _Breathe_ , you tell yourself, _you have been here before._

Not with this bear, but with the panther. You still have the jagged scar under your ribs from where it had lashed you before its death. You take comfort in your victories and use them as fuel for your strength as you leap at the last moment the bear is but a few feet in front of you. Rolling to the side, you extend your blade, letting its own speed serve as momentum for which you to slice at its front leg. You nearly cry in success when the metal catches in its fur and renders it into a rolling lump, growling and snarling as blood seeps from the black and unto the dusty ground. Memories of the first time you'd fought against _pauna_ flash through your brain and you act upon instinct. You rise quickly and mount it, but before you can drive your sword through its skull, the head twists and sharp teeth latch onto your leg, your flesh tearing and bones cracking with the force. You screech as it whips you back, releasing so you may smash into the dust a few metres away. You curl on the ground for a moment as the burning holes bleed from under your torn armour.

"Weak," you can hear the Queen laughing, "always so weak,  _osir Heda._ "

You don't let her have satisfaction as you rise, roaring to rally your own strength. This time, as it charges, you stand your ground. At the last moment, you jab your blade out, burying it into the beast's neck. It makes a guttural noise, choking on its blood as it swings its head, trying to dislodge what blocks its air. You hold on and push harder, digging the steel further into its flesh until its eyes widen and it growls. It stands to its full height, bringing you with it as you hold onto the hilt of your sword. You use this to your advantage, placing one harsh boot onto its chest and pressing forward so that it tilts backwards. You grip the sword as tight as you can when you feel the forces of the sky bear down on the massive beast, sending it tumbling backwards.

Just as it hits the ground, you give the blade one final shove, ending it's life.

Like every end to the trial, there is cheering, though you know that most of it is not towards your victory. It is towards the entertainment, and for some, the end of the beast that might have killed their own family. You take a moment to breathe, to rebuild those prison walls before you rise and pull the sword from the slain beast's neck. You grit your teeth and lock your jaw, facing the Ice Queen with nothing but fire in your eyes. You will not let her win.

She looks displeased to see you alive, which only makes you nod your head up further. You watch as she flicks her fingers, calling for the guards to take you. Instead of wrestling against them like she wants you to, you allow them to roughly cup your hands behind your back and pry the sword from your fingers. Chains lace your wrists together as you are paraded back into the darkness, towards your cell in which you'd rested for the past three months. The guards kick you in and shake their heads, spitting on you like you are nothing but dirt to them. You don't react, instead you pull yourself up when they bar the doors shut. As per usual, you turn around and extend your hands through the loops for them to undo the chains. You don't see the point, you could escape if you needed.

It's always tempting, but you are prone to resist any kind of temptation.

_I'm not ready to be with anyone… not yet._

After they leave and no one is watching, you lean against the stone wall near the back and collapse. Your hand trembles as it reaches for your leg, wincing when your dirty fingers make contact with the angry red holes in the torn fabric. You quickly take the water they have rationed and pour a bit onto the affected area, nearly sighing in relief as the burn dwells to a throbbing ache. You then reach for the tattered sheet on the bed and rip another portion off, tying it tightly around the wound to stop the bleeding. When you tighten the makeshift bandage, you bite your lip to stifle the scream that aches to part your lips.

"You know," Costia says as her ghost appears in the corner of the room, "you don't have to do this. Clarke is still not with us,  _hodnes_."

"Costia speaks true," your father murmurs as he kneels in front of you, hands outstretched and hovering over your own. "Your heart needs rest, _ai yongon_. You need to stop fighting. Not for Heda, but for you, my Aleksandria.  _Ai yongon._ " You tear at his words, wondering the last time someone has called you by your real name. When you'd been found by Costia, Anya had told you that Aleksandria was too long for a Commander, and demanded you shorten it to Leksa. 

It was the first time you made a choice for someone who wasn't you. The first time you made a choice for your _people_.

"Your last trial awaits," Gustus says as he leans down by the coiled rings of the cell. The tears leave your eyes like mist, as if they were never there to begin. You take a breath and nod, glancing over at his larger body. The blood seeps from him freely, and you cannot help but stare into the hole at the centre of his chest, a hole that you'd put there with the same sword you'd used to kill that retched beast, those warriors, and him. You finger over your own stomach, and then over your heart, tracing the bubbled scars there. Costia casts you a pitiful smile, one that breaks the small organ beneath your marred skin. 

"Your strength must win, Heda," Anya growls from your side. Her burned hand reaches to hold your cheek. "You cannot break under her."

Heda cannot break, is what she means to say. Heda _will not_ break, because your people still (and always will) need you. 

But that doesn't change the fact that _you_  are already broken.

 

**Clarke**

 

You find out that this is the  _Floukru_  or the Boat People. The man you'd met was their healer, a distant cousin of Nyko. His name is Dashiq, and he'd laughed when you'd accidentally called him dashing. He's a big guy (but when aren't Grounders big, you ask) but a gentle soul. A part of you remembers when she'd once told you of Polis, the capital, of how seeing them would change how she'd seen their people. But as Dashiq cleans the wound on your arm and bandages you up, you can't help but feel that you still believe that you have changed. They are survivors, the ones that'd been left behind to grow in the shadows of mistakes.

" _Klark_ ," Dashiq tells you as he sets aside the salve, "you heal quickly. You have the blood of leader."

_You were born to do this, Clarke. Same as me._

"Yeah," you choke out, glancing down and kicking at a loose pebble on the earthy floor of the healing hut. Dashiq smiles again, but before he goes to say something, the curtain pulls back and a beautiful, tall woman steps through. She seems motherly in a sense, but her face is gentle unlike the Grounders of the Woods Clan. She walks over to you with a soft smile, nodding respectfully as she enters the tent and takes her place beside her lead healer. 

" _Klark kom Skaïkru_ ," she says kindly, her voice smooth, "I am Luna. The leader of  _Floukru_."

"Luna?" You ask, the name fitting familiarly on your tongue. "Lincoln told Octavia to come here. You… would've accepted the Delinquents."

"Yes," she says, golden eyes glittering in the midday sun that shines through the flaps of the tent's entrance. "I also offered Lincoln and his mate passage through our lands to prevent her entanglement in our clans' conflicts. I'm sure you've experienced our culture's choices first-hand."

 _Your Heda is heartless_ , you want to spit, _nothing but a spineless coward_. But you hold your tongue. Yet, something in the older woman's gentle but cautious gaze tells you that she's already figured out exactly what you want to say. You blush at the thought, more so out of embarrassment of being caught than the thought itself. Luna watches you for a few moments before she nods at Dashiq, quietly murmuring something to him about checking on a few of the pregnant women around the village. He knows as he passes you a kind nod, that it's no more than a gentle way of saying  _bants_. 

"You know of our Commander," Luna muses, taking a seat next to you. She seems almost God-like in your vision, with her white armour pristinely flowing down to resemble something sort of a gown. It's as she grows closer to you that you make out the differences between her and the overly glorified _Heda_. Her eyes, golden and round, are not cold and withholding. Her hands are delicate and not calloused. Her skin seems smooth, her build more womanly than brutish. She doesn't at all meet your definition of what a Grounder is. She extends her hand and grazes the bandage on your arm with a mournful frown.

"Do you know of her choice?" You firmly ask instead, ignoring her question. "Do you know what she did to me? My people?"

"Yes," Luna says quietly, not meeting your gaze. "But she did it-"

"With her head," you growl, standing on wobbled knees, "not her heart. Yeah, I know."

"Do you know where the Commander is?" Luna asks you, her voice softer and more distant than before. You can almost hear a twinge of sadness in her voice, as though she knows the answer herself. You shake your head. You do not care for her anymore. She betrayed you. She kissed you and betrayed you.

"Hm," Luna murmurs, standing to her full height. She's maybe half a head taller than you, her blond hair sweeping over her face as she nods back up. You gasp at the expression in her eyes, mournful and grey. Luna takes a step forward and looks at you, up and down, up and down, until a single tear streaks down her face. You are confused, maybe even a little wary, but the tear disappears as soon as your eyes meet once more. Those golden gems are strong once more.

"You are a child, _Klark_ ," she murmurs wistfully. "Like Leksa."

You realize that this is the first time you've heard her name since having left the Mountain. It churns a pit in your stomach, clawing its way up your lungs to infect your heart. Still, you refuse to accept those two syllables. She has no name, no value other than her title. That's all she is to you.

A murderer. Tyrant. Dictator. 

She is a _monster_.

"Your Commander is not a child," you growl at her, crossing your arms in fury. "She is-" 

"Nineteen summers," Luna finishes gently. "She will turn twenty on the night of the full moon this month."

You pause. You knew that the Commander been young, sure, but just nineteen summers? She's less than a year older than you, taking lives without the harrowed guilt that follows. She is soulless and cold, her chest void of grief or loss. Is that what awaits you, too? You glance at your hands, seeing Finn's blood. Dante. Maya. Even your own mother, a woman that you'd come to distrust because of your father and nearly lost, they're all there. You stare at your palms as they begin to shake lightly. Luna hums again, following your gaze. Her eyes are knowing and open as she steps forward, placing her palms upon your own. 

"Do you know when she became Commander?" Luna asks you, cocking her head to the side. You shake your head. You don't want to know.

"She passed the ascension test when she was seven," Luna tells you, removing your hands as she winds her fingers together to form a fist. "It had been her first kill. A girl, barely able to speak English, an orphan to the world, nameless until the spirit of _Heda_ passed through her. She began leading with Anya when she'd been just twelve." You remain silent, processing it all. Luna smiles, more tears forming in her eyes as she pulls her folded hands behind her back.

"I know you dislike our Commander," she tells you, her voice taking a sterner tone. It makes your head snap up, and you see the pain burning in her eyes. A pain you know that only comes with relationship -  _history_  - that runs deeper than the blood in your veins. "But she is not heartless,  _Klark kom Skaïkru._ "

"Then what is she?" You breathe out, the rage seeping back into your voice. "Just because she's younger doesn't take away from the fact that she killed my people. She doesn't care if they live or die. She made it out okay. Your people made it out okay. Those ghosts haunt me.  _He_  haunts me." Luna doesn't move. You don't realize that you're shaking now, with tears steadily streaming down your face and dripping off your chin. You think of Raven, of Octavia, Lincoln - Bellamy.

"There was so much good," you hoarsely choke, closing your eyes as you feel Finn's lips on yours, "and she burned it to the ground with her deal."

"If she hadn't, you both would've died," Luna points out. "Your fight would've been in vain."

"I will _kill_ her," you snarl, not realizing what you've just said until Luna's eyes widen. Even you stop in complete shock. You have not killed since the Mountain. Even the fish you've speared have caused you anxiety attacks. You can barely hold your gun without shaking. You know, despite your need to believe otherwise, that you wouldn't be able to kill the Commander even if you tried. You would stumble and she would laugh about being weak. Maybe she'd take your life, too.

"Kill her," Luna echoes softly. She cocks her head, a fresh set of tears settling in her golden depths as she processes the words once more. They shimmer, reminding you of that sunset you were supposed to watch with Wells when you'd landed on Earth. But it's not beautiful, even her eyes. It's haunting. _Cold_. You both remain silent and steady for a few moments, taking in your words. But then, you can't stave off the curiosity niggling at the base of your spine.

You have to ask. "Who is she to you?"

Luna gulps, hard. She's trying to hold it together but you can tell she's on the verge of breaking.

"The  _yongon_  I never birthed," she whispers quietly. "Costia's lover, her friend, her will to live." 

"You're…," you trail off, feeling like you've been stabbed in the gut, "you're Costia's mother."

" _Nomon_ ," Luna agrees with you, her eyes flitting back to the Earth. "Once I was  _nomon_  to Costia. I raised Leksa on my own with my daughter after her mother abandoned her in the forest for  _pauna_. She was five when Costia had found her, shivering and alone. Our Commander was once a child too, _Klark_ , a child with innocence and love and a heart five times bigger than her body. I had tried to protect her from Anya, from that damned red sash, but the spirit of Heda was too strong. She'd been stripped from my side, from this town, and thrown into a training ring in Anya's camp when she was just six. Leksa stubbornly demanded to not fight, to end things peacefully, which only earned her more scars and lashes. She was never afraid to speak her mind, even at the cost of her life." You bite your lip as she recounts the story, her voice cracking with the memories. You can't imagine being five and hauling a sword, let alone fighting.

"Costia taught her English once she'd passed the ascension test," she continues to say, her voice dry and void of emotion. "They were both too young to know what it was, what it meant. As Heda, it was required for her to learn to fight, to read, to speak your people's tongue." You're staring at the wall now, trying to fight the urge to tell Luna to  _shof op_ , but you're not able to even move your hand. Luna's gaze sets back on you, and for some reason you meet it. 

"Lexa loved once, Klark - purely, harshly, beautifully," Luna says, anger starting to filter into her voice. "She rallied for the unification - coalition, if you must - of the twelve clans. We had so much bloodshed before, but Lexa cared for her people more than she cared for herself. By the age of fifteen, she'd collected twenty-seven marks upon her chest. She's the most talented swordsman in the entire Grounder culture. Many of the older warriors told her that she talked too much, Indra included. Her tongue was quick and silver, like a wolf. But from her hands, she could build something better. She knew that the age of blood had to end. She needed to know that there was more to the world than war. Her strategy and knowledge of maths succeeds her mentors. Her battle tactics are smarter than her predecessors. And yet, through the constant death, the assassination attempts, the beatings from rival tribes, she stayed true and united eleven of us. As much as you may think of her as beastly and cruel, she is the greatest Heda that we've ever had. We've never been united before, not like this."

"You said that she commands twelve clans," you say, your voice slightly dry from lack of use. Luna's shoulder shake and her lips quiver.

"Now, yes. But before it had been only eleven. All of the clans agreed to her terms of peace, trade, and harmony. All but  _Azgeda_ ," she spits the name like it's poison upon her tongue. You aren't familiar with the term so you cock your head. Luna's gaze grows darker, her eyes bearing like a spear in your gut.

"The Ice Nation," she whispers, her voice dropping to a crackling whisper. "The ones that took Costia, my only child."

You don't have to ask to know what happened to Costia. You know. 

Still, your heart sinks a little deeper inside your chest. 

"My  _yongon_  bravely refused to tell the Ice Queen anything, and then two weeks later, Lexa was given her head in a sack," Luna explains, fumbling with her hands as if she were holding the face of her daughter once more. Then, she sighs, a deep and low rumble of defeat. "The sweet and kind Leksa died with her. Instead, _Heda_ was reborn, ignited and shouting the chant of  _jus drein, jus daun_." You recognize the saying, but you'd not processed it back before the Mountain's siege.

"Blood must have blood," Luna translates, her eyes flitting upwards. "Which is what you seek now, for _your_ people. Is that not right, Clarke?"

_Maybe there are no good guys._

"I…," you want to say yes, that you still want to cut into that retched Commander, but you can't speak the words you want to. "I don't know."

"It does not matter," Luna says, her gaze turning sad once more. She offers you a flimsy, sad smile. "Both my children died long ago, Klark. You will be taking the blood of a ghost." The words are either meant to comfort you or guilt you, but instead of feeling either, you feel nothing. Numbness traps you in a trance.

"Just know this, Klark," she tells you, stepping forward. " _Leksa_ is the only one who's managed peace. It may not be peace in your terms, but it is in ours. Because of her, our  _yongons_  can play and dream and not be steeped in death. We all fight for her. We would die for her, too. Now is not a time for her spirit to pass."

_It's about looking into the face of your warriors and saying, go die for me._

"And what of the people that aren't born on this soil?" You ask tentatively. "Do they get peace, too?"

"Would your people die for you to get it?" Luna asks, the question jarring you to your bones until you are left shaking in your boots. You think of Wells, Finn, of even your father. You look to your hands, the blood now erased but somehow still etched into the cracking lines of your palms. You take a breath, gasping as the air slices at your lungs. You have the gun in your hand, when you reached for it, you don't know. Luna eyes it with a distant, sad expression.

"Your silence is assuring,  _Klark kom Skaïkru_ ," Luna hums, shaking her head as she backs away. "I pray you find peace in your choices."

You are about to stop her and say something about how you'd never find peace, not with what you've done to all those that you've loved and have been unable to save, but the pulling apart of the tent flap prevents you from moving your lips. Luna turns, tight-lipped and frowning as a guard whispers something fast and quick, _too_ quick for you to comprehend. You can only watch as Luna's expression morphs from serious to shocked within moments. Her hands tremble and she's shaking her head, but the guard nods, his gaze solemn as his gaze flits over to you, angered and full of respite. He reminds you of Quint.

When he leaves, Luna stays still, her back to you. Then, her head cocks, and you see the anger burning in her golden eyes like a pyre.

"You want her blood?" She asks you with a low hiss. "Then I will take you to her, _Klark_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRANSLATIONS:
> 
> Ai gaf gouthru klir - I seek safe passage  
> Nomon/Nontu - mother/father  
> natrona - traitor  
> hodnes - love  
> Ai yongon - my child  
> Osir Heda - our Commander  
> bants - leave us
> 
> Thanks so much for reading! Please leave a comment if you can :) Thank you so much so far for the feedback! It's definitely an adjustment writing Clexa after writing Korrasami constantly, lol.


	3. my flesh is afraid but i am not, because love now is only the pain of needing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> you wouldn't wake, i couldn't sleep for years

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just some trigger warnings for Torture and Violence for this chapter. 
> 
> Thanks for all the awesome reviews and the kudos!! I appreciate it so much :)
> 
> The song for his chapter title was "The Waves Have Come" by Chelsea Wolfe.

 

**Abby**

 

Clarke is missing. It's been three months and not a word.

You know that you've not been the best mother. You know that you betrayed her trust after it'd been revealed that you are the reason for your husband's death. Clarke loved her father, looked up to him, learned from him, and you took that away from her for the sake of your people. There are many choices in your life that you have made, but nothing haunts you more than when Clarke turned her back on you.  

And now, she may as well be dead.

You will not falter as you continue to tend to the people around you. To Raven, the troubled girl that you no doubt are sure is finally having the burden of surviving the mountain weighing down upon her shoulders. When you'd first met her, she was nothing but a self-assured and almost arrogant zero-G mechanic. Now, she's a shell of a woman, stripped of her heart from the death of her first love. You keep trying to comfort her, to support her, but you know that your support has been doing nothing but digging a deeper hole in her chest. You remember Clarke, and you curse yourself for being a terrible mother, unable to support your child or provide the right kind of love in times like these.

There has been no conflict with Grounders since the Mountain had fallen, not even in the perimeters in the forms of scouting groups. Octavia, Lincoln, Echo, and Bellamy left for the Ice Nation three months ago, and they haven't returned either. Miller and Kane pop in every now and again. You can see the pain in their eyes, one not of physicality, but of loss. You've all nearly lost your children to those retched Mountain Men, but they are here today.

Kane has been a steady figure since having returned from the Mountain. He keeps the security ring tight, always awaiting the news of Thelonius and Murphy. You know that they could be lost causes, too. The idea of a Promised Land seemed something out of Bible tales - stories which you knew existed to serve as nothing but fables. There was nothing out there, beyond that retched forest, except the treacherous Grounders. 

You miss Clarke, and even the Blakes and the Grounder they'd picked up. You miss the comforting presence of your daughter, of knowing that despite the hard choices she'd made, she had made the right ones in saving her people. You still harbour ill-feelings towards Lexa and Indra, but you know that the fight and rift between you now has stilled with this silent peace. You aren't even entirely sure if she's out there, that's how quiet the woods have become. Kane tells you that they often watch from the trees, but do not make any attempts to conquer your lands or the Mountain.

Even with the world in a state of bliss, you are far from feeling content.

 

**Octavia**

 

"What will happen to us when this is over?" You ask Lincoln as the two of you take a walk down towards the lakeside of the palace. You want to hate these formal Grounder clothes, but you can't ignore how comfortable they feel instead of the itchy war-torn clothes you've always worn. Lincoln sighs and reaches for your hand, his fingers clasping over it before curling it further into his side with protection.

"The Queen will either offer a peace treaty when she abolishes the coalition or she will attack our people," Lincoln responds as he turns his gaze back to the shimmering lake. The air is cooler now, more frigid with the approach of winter. You squeeze his hand tighter and follow his stare.

"What do you think she will do?" You ask, still scared of his potential answer. Lincoln shakes his head, swallowing thickly.

"She's ruthless, O. The things she's doing to Lexa…," he trails off, his jaw clenching as he wards off tears. You pull his hand towards your chest and then ghost it up to your lips. You lay a chaste kiss upon his scratched knuckles, knowing exactly (and sadly) where they'd come from.

"You still love her," you murmur into the back of his hand, "I know you still care about her."

"I always will, Octavia. She's my sister, maybe not by blood, but by love and strength. She is the reason I am alive today," Lincoln confesses quietly, his breath misting in front of him. "It was her and Costia that demanded peace. She was so different, so much stronger than she is now. Our people revered her because she was ruthless in battle. But no one knew how she'd come back from each fight, torn apart by guilt. She cried when she got her first kill scar because the one she'd killed had been out of mercy, not out of malicious intent. Lexa was good once, Octavia. She was so good."

"And now?" You ask quietly, rubbing your thumb over his own, "is she still good now?"

"I don't know," Lincoln replies with a sigh, nodding his head downwards. "Honestly, losing Costia was hard enough. Tristen was always too bloodthirsty for me, but Costia was pure. She and Lexa loved each other so much, but after her death by that same fucking woman that's torturing Lexa, my sister changed into this blood-driven warmonger. It took her mistake of slaughtering a few hundred warriors to realize that revenge was never worth it."

"And to think that Clarke had blood on her hands," you mutter as you give yourself from Lincoln. The man snorts and shakes his head. You both continue walking down the steps so that you may trace the rocky beaches of the calm waters. You keep staring at the sky, where'd you once lived under the floor, never being able to see the outside. But now, you are the biggest outsider. No longer a person of the sky, no longer a person of the ground.

"Lexa has more blood on her hands then there is water in the ocean," Lincoln murmurs, gazing off at the sea before you. His hands are trembling in your palms as the tears cascade down his face. "If only I'd been better. If only I could've protected her better. I could've stopped the convoy that took Costia. If I had just been faster, stronger, closer - Octavia, my sister might _die_ in the next week all because I couldn't save her." 

You pull your sobbing boyfriend into your arms and clutch him tightly. There are miles of complicated reasons why you don't like Lexa, but if Lincoln would shed tears and show weakness over the woman that'd betrayed you at the mountain, then you know that something under the ruthless exterior holds a heart capable of showing compassion and love. Lincoln's breath is hot and heavy in your neck as you palm up his chest to cup his jaw.

"Lexa is strong," you whisper as you use your thumbs to wipe away tears, "she won't die at the Queen's hand. You know she's better than that."

"She still thinks Clarke is dead," Lincoln breathes out, leaning his forehead down to yours, "that changes everything."

"Then we tell her the truth," you say convincingly, grabbing at his face and kissing his lips. "We're going to do everything we can to make sure that she comes out alive, I promise Lincoln. We're not gonna let her die. I may not fully understand her intentions at the Mountain, but I'd prefer her over Nia."

"She won't believe us," Lincoln murmurs defeatedly as you both sway in each other's arms, "she's changed. Something in her has broken."

"Then we fix it," you say strongly, gripping him tighter, "we fix her, Lincoln."

He only laughs, sadly and bitterly, before he whispers, "no one can fix her, O. Not even us."

"And what about Clarke?" You ask, your voice taking on an urgent tone. "If we can get Clarke to Lexa, then what?"

Lincoln never replies.

 

 **Clarke**   

 

You're standing in the metal box back on the Ark.

You're unsure of how you got here, or how you can see Earth from the small window in your cell. You pace around, your stomach flipping as you pound on the doors and demand for help, to get out of the confined space. You don't realize how much you've come to love open spaces until you've walked on the earth and amongst the trees. You pace around again, your hands going to your throat as you feel the oxygen leaving your lungs.

"Clarke," a soft, familiar voice interrupts you. Turning quickly, you see the man who's face matches that low rumble.

"Dad!" You cry out as you run towards him. He chuckles as he wraps you in his strong arms, pulling you close to his chest with a soft tug. You bury your head into his shoulder, gratefully breathing in the musky scent of his cologne that you always used to loathe. Now, it smells intoxicating.

"You miss me, kiddo?" Jake laughs with a hearty chortle, a sound that you never knew that you could miss so much. You nod, speechless as he presses a kiss to the top of your head. You remove yourself from his grip and stare at him, drinking in the features that you'd gone too long without seeing.

"Everything is such a mess," you cry as you slump against the back of your cell's frame. "I can't keep this up, Dad."

"You're the stargazer," he muses as he comes to take a seat next to you. "You think of the future, Clarke. You can't get holed up in the past."

"But I… the things I did to those people," you whisper to him, inching as close as you can get. "I killed children, Dad. If I were here, I'd be floated for even considering pulling the lever." You sink into his arms as they wrap around you. A part of you is disgusted because comfort is that last thing you deserve for the decision you'd made back on the Mountain, but you allow yourself the chance to be selfish and revel in the feeling of his warmth and safety. You haven't felt safe since you'd woken up next to Lexa in the forest after battling with _pauna_.

"What do I do?" You ask, choking back a sob. "How do I get the pain to go away, Dad?"

"You move forward," he whispers softly, kissing your hair again. "You pick yourself up, dust yourself off, and continue moving. Even if you're barely crawling, you have to move. The past is a vortex, Clarke. You may look back at your memories, but do not allow yourself to be sucked in."

"What if I want that?" You ask, your voice taking on a more distant tone. "The things I've seen down there, they aren't all beautiful, Dad."

"But there _is_  beauty," your father reminds you gently. "The moon is beautiful too, but it has craters. Earth is the same."

"What about the people I killed?" You ask quietly, searching your Dad's blue eyes for some sort of answer to all of your internalized turmoil. You're not like the Commander, where you can just bottle it all up and pretend that it doesn't hurt you. No, you're Clarke Griffin, and _you_ have a heart.

"They are gone," he whispers as he points down to Earth outside the window, "but the living are hungry."

Wait.

You snap your head up to question him when suddenly there's a shriek. You feel your limbs being torn apart and flames engulfing your sides as you tumble towards the Earth's gravitational field. You scream for your father or for Wells and Finn as you feel yourself gripping onto seat belts. It takes a few minutes before everything is still and the incessant humming from your ears is erased. You groan and stretch out until you are laying flat on your back, alone in a grassy field and staring up into the sky. You see nothing but stars at first, but then something catches your eyes.

Something is falling.

Suddenly, a loud thump breaks your daze and you look beside you to see the burned, radiated body of Maya laying slumped on her side. Her eyes are glassy and open, staring lifelessly at you. A scream parts your lips as more bodies begin to tumble from the sky. Elders, children, teens that you never knew but saw plenty of times. They all tumble down, soon joined by the warriors and friends you'd had stationed in TonDC. They're all falling, smothering you with their limp, bloodied bodies until you can't breathe or see an ounce of light. Blood fills your mouth, and you can hear your father screaming as he'd been floated out the airlock at the Ark. You can see your mother standing with her hands on the button and a smile on her face.

"He was a liar," she tells you as you feel yourself slipping further away and weightless, "I did it for us."

"I did it for you," Finn's voice suddenly cuts in, and you're standing at a pyre where he burns at the stake. His eyes are cold and calculating as he stares at you, repeating the vicious words, "I did it for you, Princess. You killed me because I wanted to save your life. You left me to _die_."

"What did you do?" Jasper breathes out, and you whip your hand to see him holding the knife he'd intended to use on Cage. "You didn't wait."

"I'm sorry!" You scream out as you try to move. Your body stays rooted to the ground as darkness envelops you. All the faces of the lives you'd taken, some recognizable and others marred and burnt, come into view. You shake your head and plead for them to stop staring at you like you are a murderer, like you meant for them all to die. Atom and Charlotte have joined you now. Wells is lingering near the back, his expression solemn.

"You're sorry, but that doesn't change the past," Wells says as he steps forward, placing a knife into your hand. Blood stains the blade and you gasp, choking back a sob as he reaches for your face. "I loved you, Clarke. You hated me for years and I still loved you. Why did you let me die alone?"

"I'm sorry!" You scream at him, weaving your hands into your hair and tugging hard, "please, I never meant to hurt anyone. I didn't ask for this!"

You feel everything suddenly tune out, and you're left alone once more. You search around wildly, but no one is there. Not Wells, or Finn. No Maya or Atom or Charlotte. You glance for Belamy or Jasper or Octavia - maybe even Monty or Raven. You sob as you fall into the ground, your hands curling around your arms to make you seem smaller than you are. Your lungs suck out all of the air and barely let enough in as you cry harshly and loudly.

"You were born to be a leader, kiddo." 

You glance up with a shocked expression as your father stands before you again, face pale and eyes red from having been floated into space. You look down to realize that you're just floating around the atmosphere with him, your feet unable to touch the ground. You just stare at his face, only to see it completely at peace, like he'd not been scared about death. He smiles at you earnestly before he soars over to you, his hand reaching for yours.

"Let go," he whispers quietly, leaning over to kiss your forehead again, "float on, Clarke. The world won't stop spinning. You can heal again."

"Dad?" You ask, but he shakes his head as he points you back to Earth, smiling harder with tears in his eyes.

"There is beauty in that planet, Clarke. Don't forget it," he whispers as he squeezes your hand. "It's _pain_ that makes you appreciate it."

When he lets go of your hand and gives you a fond nod, you feel yourself floating off into darkness.

 _Let go_ , his voice murmurs in your mind once more, _float on, Clarke. You were born to be a leader._

 

**Lexa**

 

"Again!" 

The whip slashes against your bare back, but you don't even offer a scream. You hear it whizz and then crack again, slashing deeper into your flesh. You continue to burn your stare into the Ice Queen, the murderer of your first love, the woman whose warriors you'd slain over the petty need for revenge. The warriors which you'd sent into the Mountain to die because you were young and foolish and angry. So damned _angry_.

"Where is the main stronghold located?" Atohl barks out, grabbing at your jaw and tilting your face in his direction. You just stare at him blankly, not even bothering to offer so much as a breath as a response. He growls and shoves your head back before reaching for the whip once more.

"No," the Queen mutters as she holds her hand up. "Let us talk a moment, leader to leader. _Bants_ , Atohl. _Mochof_."

Reluctantly, her second leaves with a disgruntled huff, allowing you and Nia the interaction you'd both been waiting to have. In the three months she's kept you here, she hasn't been bothered to show her face now, and you know why. She had no reason to try and get into your head. She knew that you would pass the first trials with ease, and even make it past the beast of the forest. But it's the duels that matter, and it's your Spirit that will be tested.

"You have a lot of nerve coming here, Leska. I'll admit, I was shocked by your passive submission," she laughs as she walks forward with an authoritative click in her heels. You can't fight the tremble in your shoulders from your arms having been strung up for so long, but you refuse to crumble before her.

"Tell me," she whispers as she angles your chin upwards with tender fingers, "did it feel good knowing you betrayed us all?"

You don't answer. You refuse to let a single word slip from your lips. The Queen rolls her eyes before walking back to her tray table of assorted weapons. She grabs at a metal set of pliers before she rolls up the sleeves of her tunic. You trace over her blue tattoos that run up and down her arms. You make out the crest of her clan's symbol on the crest of her chest. You barely lift your eyes to her forehead, where her silver crown sits perfectly atop her clean, light brown locks. Nia only sighs in a mock attempt to sound remotely sympathetic. You still don't react as she sits in the chair in front of you, lightly rapping the tool into the palm of her soft hands. You just stare her down, mustering up the courage to not cave.

"You don't want to talk," the Queen notes with a laugh, "that's okay, Leksa. You never were the talking type. Neither was Costia."

You prepared yourself for this, because you knew that she would try to use her death to weaken you. But you are steely in your lack of reaction. The Queen's expression falters and you rejoice internally at your ability to keep it together. She takes a moment to regroup before she rises and grabs her dagger from around her waist. She steps forward and cuts the ties from your arms, letting them fall to your sides. She undoes the binding around your ankles and then shoves you into another steel chair. You don't move as she ties you to the damned thing before setting it in front of you.

"Don't tell me you've forgotten about her, Heda." Her voice mocks kindness and pity as she circles you again with the pliers. "Don't tell me that her loss has made you so weak that you aren't able to love any longer. Don't tell me that you thought the best way to solve this was the absolution of emotion."

You say nothing again. 

"And what of the one we call _Wanheda_?" Nia asks, raising her brow. "What about this one, hm Leksa? The girl who fell from the sky and destroyed the Mountain Men. What about her?" You can't help the involuntary flinch that is pulled from your face as you think about Clarke and the Mountain. You push down the stabbing pang of remorse in your gut. You can't show weakness, not days before what may be your final battle. 

Nia, however, is not unobservant. 

"Oh no, Heda," she coos and you grit your teeth. She's sinking through your resolves. "Don't tell me that the _Skaï prisa_ is your new lover?"

"You can't get to me through her if that's your plan," you snarl at her, the first words you've exchanged since she'd brought you into the room. "Clarke is dead. If you wish to extort information through her torture and murder, you're too late." She scoffs at your words, setting down on the chair in front of you.

"You're delusional," she spits with a shake of her head, "not at all fit to command twelve clans."

You only growl as a response, refusing to talk once more. She's already taken too much from your lips and you curse yourself for being weak. Nia notices you pulling your walls back up, so she sneaks in for another attack. Her hand juts out and she rips your tunic apart, exposing your bound breasts and glistening, blood soaked abdomen. You watch as her eyes narrow and the hand holding the weapon juts out.

"Tell me what's inside the Mountain," she whispers as she lets the metal graze your flesh. "My warriors that had accompanied you told me that you went inside with Penn and Ryder. Tell me what they have." You only laugh and straighten your back, your eyes growing colder and harder with each second.

"I'll tell you nothing," you hiss as you feel her pry the pliers open. "The coalition will not fall. _I_ will not fail."

Nia snarls and jerks forward, twisting your skin in the firm grip of the pliers. You bite your lip and resist the urge to scream as she clenches harder, causing your skin to tear and break. You concentrate on breathing through your nose, instead. The tool slips in her hands and she shouts, throwing it across the room in an angered roar. You want to smile at how she's caved with your lack of foretelling. She comes back, winds an arm back, and punches you straight across the face. You laugh at her this time, goading her on as she levels you with another flooring punch to the jaw.

"I thought you were torturing me?" You ask with a snide smirk, letting the blood pool down your chin. Nia growls again and slams her palm up your nose. You feel the cartilage nearly pierce your skull when it breaks. Hot blood gushes into your mouth, but you resist spitting it out to aggravate her.

"You will die, _nomonjoka_ ," she says with a rough tone, rising from her chair and turning towards the door to get her guards. As you hear them marching down the hallway to fetch you, Nia turns back and crosses her arms. She glares at you furiously, pulling her bottom lip into her mouth and biting hard.

"You may be no Costia, but your coalition requires your life to succeed," she spits as the guards spill into the room. They grab for you, untying you from the chair and binding you in metal chains so they may parade you back to the dungeon below the torture chamber. Nia's eyes narrow. "Your people are not too fond of your decision to flee like a jackal, Heda. Even if you make it through the duels, there's no guarantee they will follow you again."

"I got them to follow me once," you say as you are pulled to your feet. "I can do it again."

"You're no God Leksa," she seethes, walking forward until she is face to face with you. "You bleed for nothing."

You remember the words that you'd uttered to Clarke before she'd gone off to kill Finn. You knew that she'd had that blade in her wrist, and that it wasn't intended for the boy she'd loved, but for you. Yet, you knew that she would have to make the choice that would've haunted her for days if she'd wished to see the guilty pass on without pain. You knew that pain, the fear that'd encapsulated those blue eyes, and it had been something in which Clarke had once sought comfort. She'd known that you had been there, and she'd drawn strength from you. It was the only way she could've destroyed the Mountain Men, even if it included the death of the innocent people that resided inside the building.

And for some reason, that makes you stronger and prouder than ever.

"You will never break me," you tell her with a strong voice. "I may be  _Leksa kom Trikru_ , but I am also _Heda_."

You know you've won this fight when her smile falters and she recognizes the fire relit in your eyes.She orders the guards to take you away with a low growl, unable to look you in the eyes when she makes the same conclusion. You don't break eye contact with her as she picks at a loose string on her tunic with a frown on her face. You've beaten her in this battle, but you remind yourself that not everything is dependent on small fights such as these.

In the end, war still rages on.

 

**Bellamy**

 

"Why are the duels the hardest? I mean, surely the whole reason that she's leader is because she's well versed in fighting," Octavia speaks out over the dinner table. The most of you have been quietly eating, bare for side conversation here and there. It's your sister's question that brings the table's full attention towards you. Atohl, who sits at the head of the table, lowers his wine glass. You wince at the cold look in his eye as he peers down the wooden table at your sister. She has not touched her food, but then again, who can really be hungry in times like these?

"You were _once_  a Grounder," Atohl huffs with a low chuckle, the cold thawing for amusement. "Surely you should know." 

Octavia flinches and you almost feel the urge to defend her honour. Luckily, Lincoln cuts in before you can say something that might cut your tongue.

"The duels are not between the Heda and a warrior," Lincoln says quietly, "not _always_ , at least."

"Then how are they considered duels?" Octavia asks, befuddled by the concept. Echo wipes her mouth from beside you, nodding at your sister. 

"It is a matter of strength in character," she explains, her fingers playing with one of the knives. She twirls it between her fingers in a way that reminds you of Lexa. You find yourself coming back to her, thinking about her, about whether or not she deserves this for what she'd done. Your anger with her has quelled, and while the wound is still somewhat fresh, you can't help but believe that you had acted out of rashness. Octavia still looks confused however. Her hands fidget until Lincoln has to take one of them in his own palm to hold it steady. You glare at Echo as she holds back a laugh.

"You will see," Echo says with a smirk instead, reaching over to pat her back. "It is the most taxing trial, not on the body, but the mind."

"Mind," Atohl laughs from the table. " _Heda_ has no mind."

"And yet you still call her Heda," Lincoln growls, his fingers scratching at the wooden table. Echo slams her knife down, startling everyone.

"It does not matter what she is called," Echo snarls at him, "her time is done."

"I think I'm full," you mutter, rising from the table as you find the air in your lungs constrict and strain. You don't glance at Echo or Octavia as you move away from the table and instead head down a hall. The castle is massive. You have no idea where you are going until suddenly you find yourself at a massive wooden door. You know that you must go back, you cannot allow them to think of you as a traitor for the safety of your people - your sister.

But you need to leave, so you pull open the door.

You descend cobblestone steps until you are faced with a dimly lit hall. You can hear voices on the other end and you freeze, ducking into a small wedge between the door and the stone. You recognize it as  _Trigedasleng_ , most of which you still cannot understand. You wish that you'd asked Octavia and Lincoln to spend more time teaching you, but you cannot now. Instead, you quieten your breaths and gulp, trying to focus on the other noises coming from the other end. The sounds of lashing, of something hard hitting something like skin fill your ears. You painfully realize that you must be in the dungeon, and the person being assumedly flogged is Lexa. Your hand trembles and you gasp at the sudden realization.

"Pathetic," one of the guards speak in English, "not even a single word, Heda? If you want we can cut out your tongue."

Silence answers back. The guard speaks again. "Lash her ten more times. The Queen wants her blood for her defiance."

You have to force yourself to listen to the merciless beatings until the guards have finally had enough. They curse at her before you hear something jingle shut. You move closer into the tight space and out of their view as they stalk past you, massive in size and gait. A bloodied whip hangs at the base of one of their hands. You hold your breath and wait until the door is shut, but it does not get locked. You frown in confusion. Should the Commander escape, she'd have no issue in leaving. You remove yourself from the tight corner and let out a breath, examining the door. You listen for the guards, perhaps wondering if they will return again for another beating, but only tense silence replies. Your fingers palm over the knob and you twist. Like you'd predicted, it opens with no hesitation, not even a squeak from the hinges. You close it again, lost in confusion.

"Why wouldn't they lock it?" You ask yourself quietly. "Why make it so easy?"

"It is not about ease," a tired, scratchy voice sounds from behind you.

The sound of Lexa's once powerful tone has dwindled to something weak and breathy, like she is trying to conserve air. You turn on your heel and walk further into the darkness until you see the cell bars. You peer in to glance shockingly at Lexa slumped against the side, her back open and fresh wounds gleaming in the pale light. Blood pools over her skin like a river and you can't help the hitch in your breath when she shudders. Her knees wobble as she tries to stand, the lashing having weakened her sense of awareness. Her eyes flit dazedly and her bloodied hand palms the stone wall for support.

"Why are you here?" She asks quietly, not looking at you. "Have you come to laugh in my face?"

"No," you breathe out, surprising yourself with how soft (and almost pitiful) your voice sounds when you answer, "they were speaking of the trials you had to face, and the one you face last. I… I just couldn't take it. I needed to get away. Maybe get some air or something." Lexa chuckles and nods her head up.

"That is a strange expression of your people," she muses as she stands up straighter, trying not to wince. "There is air all around you."

"It's supposed to mean that you need time alone," you explain to her as you watch her take a seat on the cot. Her hand goes towards the torn fabric, ripping it between her fingers before pressing it into the pad of her bleeding shoulder. She glances back at you, her eyes glinting in the dim torchlight.

"And so you came here instead?" Lexa asks you. "I am not a ghost, _Belomi_. Not yet. You are not alone with me."

"No, I found you. It was an accident," you say as you remove your hands from the bars of the cell. Lexa nods, but does not say anything further. You can make out the red filling the blank sheet under her palm, some of it oozing out around her fingers to drip down her arm and to the stone floor.

"Why don't you leave?" You ask curiously. Her head nods up again. You point back at the door. "It's unlocked."

"I know," Lexa says with a nod, "it is customary to leave it unlocked during the trials."

"Why?" You blurt out. It sounds absurd to you, not that any of it seems particularly sane. Grounder culture is more barbaric than anything you've learned about back on the Ark. "I mean, you could literally just walk out. What is the point in that? More importantly, why haven't you walked out, Commander?"

"Because I have been summoned to a trial by the people I command. I may leave when I want, _Belomi_. I do not have to fight if I do not wish to do so," Lexa answers cryptically, removing the stained pad from her shoulder before letting it fall to the ground. You follow its descent to see many others in its wake. Some old, others fresh. It makes you sick.

"I don't understand," you say, your voice raw and unbridled with emotion, "why are you here, Lexa?"

Something in her facial expression twists at her name on your lips, like she hasn't called herself that in a long time. Her eyes blink slowly, and for a moment you think that you can see tears forming in her eyes. Before you can question her, she shakes her head and stands stiffly. She walks with a well hidden limp towards you, her hands reaching out to curl around the bars. Her eyes, dark and mournful - nothing like the vulnerable second you'd managed to steel. She peers into your eyes and you shiver at the heart-wrenching gaze sent your way.

"Because of my people," she tells you with a hitch of her voice, "because I cannot save them if I let her win."

"You gave yourself up to us," you tell her back, your own hands curling around the iron as you growl, "you didn't even fight!"

"I cannot start another war," she answers, releasing her hands and looking down. "I will not lose any more of people."

"You chose with your head and not your heart," you breathe out, repeating the words that Clarke had angrily cried to you in the confines of those tunnels. You remember winding your arms around her and holding her tightly, cursing the woman before you. Now, however, you see the once-hidden compassion, the sheer sympathetic reasoning in Lexa's decision, and it's a realization that haunts you like no other ghost before. Lexa nods, her eyes strong and withholding once more as she recognizes your sudden understanding in the weight of the situation.

"You bear the burden so they don't have to," you say with a crack in your voice. "You create it so that their pain is inflicted on you. You're… you're the spirit that binds them together, and that's why you do it. You can't abandon your people because you have _no_ choice." You remember Clarke saying something similar about pulling the lever back on the Mountain, but it all seems so long ago. Your hand shakes as Lexa swallows and nods, seemingly taken aback at your confession. She takes a step back and glances to the ground, her eyes trained on the countless bloody pads that litter the floor. 

"Your people will forgive her for her actions through time," Lexa whispers, her voice almost defeated. "It is something that I have come to notice among your people. You are ones to… what was it that she would say… ah, 'forgive and forget'." Your stare hardens at her choice of expression and you growl. The previous feelings of empathy simmer beneath your rage at her decision of leaving you alone on the Mountain.

"We won't _ever_ forget," you snarl at her, your hands gripping the bars. Lexa nods and smiles half-heartedly, glancing back up at you. Your breath leaves your lungs like you'd never had it to begin with. You watch as she takes a step towards you and nods again, this time more surely than before.

"But you will forgive," she tells you. "That is why she was able to pull the lever and sacrifice herself."

"For forgiveness?" You ask, though you flash back to the time when you'd told her that she'd already received that from you. It had been the same thing when you'd confessed of your fears of being killed or locked up before the Ark came down. You have both forgiven each other. You remember how her eyes had watered, like you'd taken some of the weight off her shoulders to place on your own. In a way, you had. You still carry the Mountain with you. 

You still carry Clarke with you.

"For forgiveness," Lexa hums, swallowing harder. You can see the angry red lashes on her back clearly now. "For peace. For… _love_." The last word comes out as a harsh whisper, as if she almost regrets letting it slip past her lips. You tremble behind the bars, gulping down your nerves. You steady yourself.

"And what about you?" The words leave your mouth slowly, dryly. Lexa waits a moment, thinking about her answer. Then her chest sighs deeply.

"I will carry my people until my last breath," she admits with a strong, steady tone. "My job is to protect them, regardless of their sentiments towards me. My life will come second to theirs. My feelings and personal desires third. I know many of them want to kill me, that think I am a traitor or a coward from running away from the Mountain while your people took it down. But my running saved their lives. Many of them did not want to fight in the first place. Many of them weren't even properly trained warriors. They may not be grateful right now, but I know that I saved them from the pain. From war, from death, from loss. My people are my world, Belomi. I will hold them on my shoulders until my heart does not beat. I have to."

"And when you stop?" You ask, fearing for tomorrow's trials. Lexa only nods again, her face growing solemn in expression.

"Then my spirit finds another vessel to do the same," she tells you quietly. "Hedas do not live very long for this reason."

"How old _are_ you?" You ask her, feeling your throat dry up. The Commander smiles and reaches out and places her hands on the bars again. Her fingers give a light, gentle squeeze as she presses closer to you. There is a mark of sadness in her eyes that tears at your heart, that threatens you to fall to pieces.

"Old enough to know when my fight is over," Lexa tells you without hesitation. "But death is not the end, Belomi." 

You may not forgive the Commander for her betrayal, or the Grounders for killing your people, for torturing and poisoning Murphy, for making Clarke kill Finn, but you know that if Clarke is out there, that maybe Lexa is the fucked up key to bringing her back. You stare at the one called they all call their Heda, trying to processes her story. Her mind seems detached, but the way she speaks of Clarke, so softly and preciously, like she is nothing but fragile glass in her palms, you understand. You are the same. Worn down by the war, by death, only she hides it better. She knows that her hands are stained with blood, her fingers bent out of shape and calloused, and you _know_ best how easily glass can break in weathered hands.

You can't believe you're saying it, but you have to tell her the truth. You owe her that, at least.

"Lexa," you breathe out her name quietly, "Clarke isn't dead. She is alive."

"No," Lexa says with a scrunch of a brow. You've hit a sore nerve. "She is a ghost, Belomi." You shake your head and grip the bars again. The tears are piling in her eyes as she steps back from you, her hand reaching to cover her heart. It's as if she's trying to physically trying to shield you from entry.

"Please listen to me," you plead as you tighten your hold on the cold steel, "Clarke left Jaha three months ago. She went off on her own. She is _alive_. She needs you, okay? She hates what you did to her but I know that she doesn't hate you. You have to live for her. You are the only thing she has left." 

"You played me," Lexa chuckles lightly, sitting back down on the bed. "You are smart, I will say that. Klark was smart, too. Perhaps it is a _Skaïkru_ trait to be so cunning. If this is your attempt to break me before the duels, it will not work. I do not feel for Klark as you do. I am Heda. I do not _feel_."

"But you do," you say to her as she nods back at you blankly, "you would've let that bear kill you if you didn't. You could've chosen death, but you are still here. She tortures you every fucking day but you're still alive. You don't protect your people because you have to, but because you _love_ them, Lexa. They love you, too. You saved them and bear the weight of your decision alone. Clarke bears it with the rest of us, her burden is split amongst our shoulders so we can hold it up together. You feel for her, or else you wouldn't have apologized at the Mountain. You wouldn't have made a truce with her even when our people murdered each other. You do feel, Lexa. I know you do. Clarke does too."

"Belomi," she snarls as she rises like her body is fresh and new, "do not challenge me,  _branwada_." You do not waver under her firm, angered stare.

"You are human," you whisper through the bars as you start to back away, "and there is not a single human that does not feel."

 

**Clarke**

 

" _Klark kom Skaïkru_ ," a voice murmurs into your ear, "you must rise."

You blink an eye open to see Dashiq smiling down at you, his hand resting on your side as you glance up to see the dark settling over the lands. Luna and her guards are already on their horses and you frown in confusion. Dashiq holds back a laugh when you grumble about wanting more sleep. In all honesty, it's the last thing that you want because in sleep you confront those nightmares again. But this last one had been different.

You still feel the cold space air on your body as you rise. You hear your father's words echoing inside your mind as you're saddled up on the horse. Dashiq climbs up behind you and you jump slightly. He only smiles kindly again, inching a few spaces backwards so you don't have to be pressed up against him. Yet, you crave contact for some reason. You barely know this man, but he's open and warm. You hesitantly lean back, and he doesn't hesitate to hum and acknowledge your presence. His arms loop under yours to grab at the reigns of the horse, flicking the leather lightly.

"Rest, Klark," he murmurs quietly into your ear, "we must keep riding if we are to reach _Azgeda_."

"What's the hurry?" You ask quietly, still in the throes of sleep. Dashiq stiffens slightly, and you watch him pass a worried glance to a pensive Luna. The woman looks absolutely torn apart, like she just wants to kick at her horse and sprint towards the Ice Nation. You frown at the interaction.

"The _Kwin_ has our Heda," Dashiq murmurs with a bare whisper. "We have been told to bring you for a discussion."

"Wait," you splutter as you turn in his arms, "what?! They have her?"

"For as long as she draws breath, yes." Luna's voice cuts in like a broken record, drawing your attention to her. Tears gloss in her eyes as she keeps her grip firm on the horse. You think back to what Dashiq had said earlier, your face scrunching up into a frown once more.

"Why would the Queen need me?" You ask, but when you see Luna tense and flinch, you remember Costia. You gulp down the horrid memory of listening to the Commander spill the secret that had probably left her drowning for so many years. You breathe through the panic and turn back to her.

"She must've seen Leksa's interactions with you when she sent Atohl and the chief of her bombardment unit for the meeting at TonDC. Subtly was never her best feature," Luna murmurs sadly, her head down into her chest as your party continues to trudge through the forest. You notice that through the clench in her jaw, that she's hiding something else. You go to ask her about it when Dashiq's hand places itself over yours, squeezing lightly.

"There is nothing we can do for the Commander now, Klark. It is imperative that you rest while we make the journey. Your body is still weak and improperly nourished from your three month journey," he tells you softly, pulling you flush against his broad chest. You can't help how you feel your frame melt against him. Your worries are still ever present, as images of blood and death pool through your thoughts, rousing anxiety once more.

"Do you still want her blood?" Luna asks you, her voice quiet but the words still catching in the faint wind. You flinch as she looks up at you with a mournful expression. You think back to all the children you'd killed on the Mountain, or how you'd killed Dante with a quick shot to the chest. You can see the same pain on her face that had been on Cage's in the monitor when he'd heard his father gasping his final breaths. You know what she's asking.

_Do you want her blood on your hands too?_

"She betrayed me," you say instead, trying to hide the crack in your voice. "Three hundred people died, Luna. _Innocent_ people."

"I am not asking you to spare her," Luna responds almost defeatedly, but what she's suggesting doesn't merit a hint towards keeping the Commander alive. You frown, ignoring the grumble from Dashiq's throat as he tries to coax you out of this conversation and back to resting. 

"What are you asking then?" You reply shortly, unsure of what the older woman is meaning to tell you. Luna only sighs, her grip on her horse's reigns shaking as she struggles to hold herself together. Tears shimmer in her eyes, a few dribbling down her cheeks and off her chin. Dashiq stiffens again, his jaw tensing as he observes his leader fall apart. Luna's gaze finally meets yours in a soft, sad expression that nearly breaks your heart.

"Sometimes," she whispers tiredly, "it _is_ better for one's fight to be over."

"You want me to kill her?" You ask, aghast that she would even suggest a thing. "You think of her as your daughter!"

"It is _because_ she is my daughter that I say such a thing!" Luna says with a harsh cry. "It is because I love her that I ask you this question."

"Why me?" You growl out the question, ignoring the growing pit in the bottom of your stomach. You'd been pleading, aching for her death six nights ago, but now you're caught in a web of indecision. Maybe it's your fucked up dreams and lack of sleep, or maybe Luna has made you see something other than pain and hardship. Perhaps it's the weight of the burden that comes with taking a life that makes you want to negotiate away from fighting.

Luna only smiles sadly at you again, her breath hitching as more tears fall.

"Because," she breathes out, nodding her head, "she would die in the arms of the woman she loves."

 

**Lexa**

 

The ghosts return that night, but Clarke is still not among them.

"I told you," Costia says as she strokes your hair. "She is not here, my love." You wish that you could feel her fingers.  _Her_.

" _Love_ is weakness," Anya snaps, startling the woman holding you tightly. You glance at your mentor -  _former_ mentor - as she steps over to you and plunges her hand through your chest. She stares at you and glowers with rage. Costia is tense beside you, glaring into the woman that'd birthed you into Heda. You feel a tear in your heart as you let out a silent cry, experiencing the burdens you'd once bore starting to crack into your flayed flesh.

Sometimes you forget that despite all you've ever done and felt, you are still young, too.

"Do not be weak, Heda. You are the only one who can save them," Anya tells you sternly, inching closer to you. The lashes on your back are throbbing like fire now, and you can barely stifle the urge to cry at the firm stare of your lifeless friend. Gustus nods from beside her, but his gaze is mournful when he sees your agony. No matter how comforting you find their presence, it will never change the fact that they are gone and you are alone.

"Why?" You ask her as you feel the tears burning at your eyes. "Why can I feel nothing but _pain_?"

"It is not your pain," Gustus says with a sad chuckle as he takes a seat, opposite to you. "It is theirs,  _goufa_. _You_ are the vessel to carry it." 

"When it is over, when your spirit moves on to another and your body is laid to rest, your soul will be free, Heda." Anya's voice has gone from hostile to calm, her hand retreating from inside your chest. Her eyes are firm once more, but not with anger. She smiles at you softly, a sight that would often come as a rarity during your earlier training years. She reaches out and cups your face in her marred hands and draws your head nearer, her forehead resting against your own as she smiles harder and warmer than before. "What makes you _Leksa_ will be released. Then, you may be free to love, to live, and be free of the chains that bind you to this planet." You wish you could hold her closer, to cry against her like you'd done when you had been younger and more naïve, when the world didn't threaten to drown you with every death by your blade. Your father's arms swoop around you and you swear you can feel the steady thumping of his heart against the flayed skin of your back. You shudder as you reach up to latch onto nothing.

"Death is not the end,  _ai yongon_ ," he murmurs sweetly into your ear, "you will find your peace soon, Aleksandria. The pain will end, I promise."

You feel your eyes close shut as you listen to him repeating it over and over until you fall into tainted slumber.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRANSLATIONS:
> 
> Bants - leave us  
> Mochof - thank you  
> Wanheda - commander of death  
> nomonjoka - motherfucker  
> branwada - idiot/fool  
> goufa - child (but in a silly sense)
> 
> Please leave a comment if you can! If not that is fine too :) Thanks for all the support so far!!


	4. she takes the world and i take the blame

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> she wants to drown and i break the chain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warnings for Blood and Decapitation? I guess, lol.
> 
> Part 1 of the last of the Commander's dreaded trials. A lot of you guys are worried about the rape warnings for this story, but I assure you, they're not intended until later on. They have no relevance for another ten or so chapters, and when it comes, I will put a warning out just in case!
> 
> I hope you guys are liking this so far! I know it's a long read, but I have a problem with writing short chapters. It's like I physically am unable to have anything under five thousand words, lol.
> 
> The song for this chapter title was inspired by "I Couldn't Stop Caring" by The Spiritual Machines.

 

**Lexa**

 

"Wake up," Atohl's gruff voice pulls you from sleep. "It's time for you to dress, great Commander."

"Lovely," you growl out as you stumble to your feet. You curse the various cuts that have now dried and threaten to stretch your skin. You rise up and let them pull you from your cage like some bitch in heat. You see the dawn cracking through the sills of the window and you grimace. Today is the day.

"Scared?" Atohl laughs as he shoves you into another room where a few maidens await with cloths and buckets of ice water. You only laugh and shake your head, bunching the tattered skin of your biceps in a form of intimidation. You narrow your gaze and glare at him, pleased to see the fear on his face. He hastily gulps and nods at the the women to take care of you before leaving with a wave of his hand.

"I wish you well," one of the maiden says softly as she tenderly starts to clean your skin. You frown and glance over to see that her movements are slow and soft, like she is trying give some of her strength to you. Her hands are trembling and you make out the faint quiver of her bottom lip.

"Do not be afraid," you whisper to her calmly, "I will not go down so easily."

"You saved my son from the Mountain," she murmurs kindly as she finishes washing your arms. Nodding her head up, she quietly tells you, "I am forever in your debt, Heda. There is no other like you. While our _Kwin_ may not see it, I know you lead with good intentions."

"Hush," the other maiden scowls out before you go to answer, "the _Kwin_ would have your head if she heard such a thing!"

"Let her," the first maiden growls as she sets the bloodied cloth aside, "she has done nothing but rip our kind apart for her own joy."

"Enough," you tell them both, your voice taking on a stern tone. "What quarrels you have with your _Kwin_ will be disputed after the trials."

"And if you fail, Heda?" The second maiden scoffs at you, crossing her arms. "Then what? You expect peace?"

"I will not fail," you say to her sternly, "I have been here before."

"Both of you, enough bantering!" Atohl's voice sounds out as he enters the room. You growl in disgust as he rakes his eyes up and down your body with a lusted glance, his tongue darting out to lick over his lips in approval. You fight the urge to lunge forward and snap his neck and instead bottle your fury with a hardened glare. He snorts at you before motioning for you to get dressed. It requires some effort, considering you are far more injured than you care to acknowledge, but you do not want to seem weak in front of your enemies, not on the eve of your final battle.

"As per usual," Atohl mutters, waiving you to the door when you're finished, "you and the Queen have your negotiations."

You nod and follow him down the corridor to her chambers. Every inch of the palace makes you sick, because you know that somewhere within this labyrinth of walls and rooms, your love was tortured and beheaded for the sake of learning your secrets. You hadn't even had any secrets, none worth of the Queen's knowledge or anyone else's for that matter. You were an open leader, one that was easy to approach. It was always the Queen that created disharmony within the twelve clans. It was always her that looked for bloodshed and war, solely based on the size of her army.

"Here," Atohl growls as he shoves you into the room where the Queen awaits. "You have one hour, _Heda_."

You try not to snarl at how he spits your title so sarcastically, and instead you nod. You are seated at one end of a medium-sized, but equally exquisite mahogany table. On the other end are two seats, but you are confused as to which other person would be listening in on your negotiations if not for the Queen's second standing post at the door behind you. Just as you are about to pose the question, the door on the opposite end opens.

Only for the Queen and your general, Indra, to enter.

You rise immediately, trying to keep the shock off your face as she is marched into the room. Her eyes are pierced on yours, dark and tranquil, like the calm before a storm. You gulp down your feels, chanting your mantras of weakness and strength. Sitting down, you place your cuffed hands on the table and tilt your jaw up, nodding to both Nia and Indra. The Queen grunts at your lack of formal acknowledgement, but let's it slide.

"You must be wondering what she's doing here," Nia says too sweetly, placing her hand on your general's shoulder, "hm, Heda?"

"Do not play games with me," you growl out instead, your fingers scratching at the table's surface. "I came here to talk about negotiations."

"Yes, yes," Nia mutters, rolling her eyes nonchalantly. "You and your damned negotiations and treaties. When will it end?"

"Enough!" You say with a harsh snarl, rising back to your feet. "I may be in trial but I still hold command over you. What do you want?!"

"What do I want?" Nia repeats with a gentle echo before she, too, rises from her seat to circle your general. She lays another hand on the Chief of TonDC and you can't help but feel bile rising in your throat at the sight of Indra's darkened expression. You watch her jaw clench and your heart tears. Nia notices the subtle change in emotion and plays it like a finely turned instrument. She glances down at Indra with a sickening smile.

"Why don't you tell her what you did," she whispers into Indra's ear, "after the attack on the Mountain."

Indra does not answer. Her eyes stay locked to the table.

"Speak, woman!" Nia shouts, slamming her palm down on the wooden surface. You growl at her, but she flashes you a glare before nodding at Atohl. He comes around and weaves his arm through yours, hoisting you away from the table. You writhe as Nia circles Indra like a hawk, waiting for an answer.

"Tell her," the Queen hisses like a snake, "tell her of the treachery you created. Of why Lincoln is upstairs waiting to watch his sister die."

"Indra," you say her name softly, almost like you're trying to comfort her. At the tone of your voice, your general's head snaps upwards and she glares at you, tears flooding her eyes as she stands. She shakes her head as she makes her way over to you, her jaw clenched tightly to hold back a cry.

"I set him free," she admits in a hoarse growl, " _I_ let Lincoln go."

Instantly, your gut plummets. She'd told you Lincoln had escaped. Nia only laughs, and you know why. You hate that you know _why_.

You shake your head at Indra, pleading that she's not telling the truth, but she only keeps her gaze steady and remorseful.

"Isn't that treason, Commander?" Nia asks innocently, coming over to stand next to the two of you. "I'm sure you know what that means for the trials."

" _Shof op_!" You say to her with a stern bark. "I am not in the ring yet, Nia. I would watch your tone, _branwada_."

"I will address you however I want," she snarls back, her hand reaching out to grab at your neck. You don't offer her a single breath as she grips you tightly in her palm, squeezing until your lips turn blue. When she lets go, you hold back the cough and wheeze that rattles the insides of your lungs.

"You wanted negotiations?" Nia mutters as she stiffens and presses down her formal tunic. "Address them to me now and I will have your general relay them to her new _seken_." You flinch at the thought of what is going to happen to Indra after she leaves this room, but you dare not dwell on it now.

"The _Skaïkru_ will be left in peace unless they provoke you," is the first thing that slips from your lips. Damned Clarke, you want to curse, but you also know that you owe it to her to keep her people safe. You know Nia well enough to predict that she would try and take the Mountain after the trials, should you fail. Nia ponders this with a slick grin before she nods, asking you silently to continue. You glance at Indra now, your throat bobbing.

"The trading posts remain universal. You may abolish the coalition, or try to do so, but all our people should be able to travel between the clans for the exchange of goods and services. The lake is to remain neutral ground, especially the areas surrounding the former drop ship of the _Skaïkru_. It will serve to be a memorial for their people, like we have in our own lands," you order strictly, trying not to let the crack flood into your voice. Nia nods again, this time her gaze narrowing slightly in the increase of your requests. If anything gives you peace, is the fact that your tradition dictates word as law.

"Is that all?" Nia asks, crossing her arms and tipping her jaw upwards. You rake your mind for anything else, but find nothing.

"Good," Nia says, nodding to Atohl to acknowledge that she agrees to the terms. You take a breath as you wait on hers.

"When you die," she starts off with a smug chuckle, "I will take lead. The coalition will fall to me until the next Heda is discovered. I will take leadership into my own terms, but I will abide by the rules you have set for yourself. _Skaïkru_ will be safe from my hands, trust me. My fight is not with them."

There's something else flickering in her eyes, something that makes you question the deal in the first place. Indra's head even nods up in shock that she'd not want to fight the Sky People. It'd been the Ice Nation that openly denied their involvement of the attack on Mount Weather, but now Nia seems open to the idea of not provoking them. You frown, but before you can ponder on the subject any further, she is speaking once more.

"I am happy to see that you are one of little demands," Nia chuckles as she nods to Atohl to grab you again. "I agree to our terms."

"Good," you mutter half-heartedly. You try to remind yourself that the terms mean nothing if you pass the trials.

 _When_ you pass, you have to remind yourself, not if. You cannot afford to think of an _if_.

"You have two minutes with your general," Nia says as she stalks past you. "I will grant you the peace of saying goodbye, Heda."

"Generous," Indra snarls under her breath. Nia perks her brow and goes to glare, but then thinks better of it at the look of guilt on your face. She takes a satisfied breath and walks away, pulling open the door and disappearing out of sight. Atohl retreats to the door, allowing you and Indra some space.

"Why?" You whisper once you're left somewhat alone. "Why did you-"

"I did what you would've done," Indra answers with her ever sharp tongue. "I let him make his own choice."

"Just because he is my _bro_ does not exclude him from tradition!" You nearly scream the words at her, but instead you hiss them under your breath. Indra does not flinch, but she only holds her head up. You know that she is right, it is exactly what you would've wanted for him. It broke your heart to first see him dead as a Reaper, and then to have him taken by force away from Clarke and to tie him up like a hostage. He is yours, your family.

Your _responsibility_.

"You know what this means," you whisper to her, trying to stop your heart from breaking. "What it means for you, and for me."

"You must be strong," Indra tells you as she reaches out and grabs your shoulder. "You _will not_ break in the duels."

"You are my _sis_ ," you say as you bow your head. Tears are stinging at your eyes but you push them down. "What is about to happen… it…"

"Is the price for choosing to leave the Mountain," Indra reminds you sternly. She, like Anya, was never one for sweetening things. She knows exactly what fate awaits her, as well as what fate awaits you as you hear the stadium begin to chant your name from outside the wooden doors. Indra gives you a strict nod, her own eyes betraying her as she grabs your arm in a Grounder greeting, before pulling you tight against her chest.

" _Taim ge smak daun, gyon op nodotaim_ ," she tells you strongly, "that is where your strength lies, Heda. You are ready for this."

" _Sha_ ," you mutter as best as you can. You break away from her hold and nod your head, clenching your jaw to hold the emotions at bay. She gazes at you proudly, her own eyes misting as she glances up and down your body, her face flinching whenever she comes across a deep cut or swollen bruise.

"You have trained well," she murmurs wistfully, "Anya would be proud of what you've become, despite all this. Gustus, Luna, and Costia, too."

"I do it so my people don't have to," you tell her, though your voice cracks slightly. Indra only nods, taking a deep breath. Then, she does something unexpected. She reaches out, her palm cupping your cheek as she draws you in for one last tender embrace. Her forehead grazes yours as she closes her eyes. You try not to shake or cry or even move as she keeps her other hand firmly gripped on your dominant wrist for support.

"And that is why you are the greatest Commander to ever serve our people," she whispers against your skin. "Fight strong, fight true."

" _Sha_ ," you say strongly as she pulls away for the final time, backing up towards the door. You grit your teeth and nod your head again at her.

" _Mebi oso na hit choda op nodotaim, sis_." You say the words to her without a tremble in your words. Indra nods and curls her hand into a fist before thumping it against her chest. You mimic the action before her hand reaches for the doorknob and she twists. Her eyes glaze and she offers a final nod.

"May we meet again, my sister," she repeats in English, before she exits through the door and leaves you alone. 

Atohl grabs you and walks you back down the dank, dark halls towards the base of the ring. There, he unties your cuffs and hands you the sword you have used since you first learned to wield the weapon. You gaze over the marking on the blade's hilt and send a silent prayer to the Spirits, to grant you safe passage on this final trial. You clear your mind of any memories - good or bad - and take a breath to focus yourself. One of the maidens from before comes up and offers you some kohl, which you accept with a gracious nod. You apply it quickly, making it as dark and strong as possible.

"You were born for _greatness_ ," Anya's voice sounds in the back of your mind as you swipe the black paste over your right eye. "This is what your people see in you. They see your will, your fight, your drive, but they also see reason and understanding. You must lead with a clear mind and pure heart."

"You stand tall like the trees, and with your strength you are rooted to the ground," your father murmurs as you swipe over your left eye this time, rubbing the black kohl into your cut skin. "You are born from this earth, from the dirt and the trees, and you are built to _protect_ it."

"You _are_ the coalition," Gustus growls protectively as you are given your woven gauntlets you'd had his wife craft after your ascension test. You slip them on silently, tying up the bands tightly to your wrists. Your eyes ghost over to your pinky when Gustus says, "you fight for your people."

"Remember where you've come from, Leksa. You are more than just a sword and a bow, or some kohl and armour," Costia hums in your ear, her voice soothing and soft like the rivers she'd taught you to swim in. You take the all too familiar cog and place it between your brows. "It is your time to bring a new hope, a new era to your people. You stand strong for them because you _are_ strong. You are the leader they do not deserve, but they need."

Together, as the doors swing open and light filters in, they all join in unison to cry out, "you are _Heda_."

**Clarke**

 

The Ice Nation is not something you'd imagine you'd be seeing after the Mountain.

You thought of maybe returning to the Ark, or even Camp Jaha. You don't despise your mother but you don't like her all that much right now. What happened her on the Mountain haunts you still, but your relationship is rocky, founded by the relation of blood only. Like you'd once told Bellamy, their faces only serve to remind you of what happened, of the people you had killed with your own intent to keep the forty-seven alive. She'd been so aghast that you'd take such measures to keep your friends and family safe, but you meant it when you told her you'd tried to be the good guy.

But you learned quickly, like she'd told you, there _are_ no good guys.

"We're here," Dashiq grumbles from behind you, shaking his head with disgust as you ride through the frigid forest and towards a lake. You shiver at the freezing air and lean back on his torso as he trots forward. He shifts on his mare as he steers her towards the palace where the Queen awaits. Luna is riding slowly beside you, with a few of her warriors following in tow. You can make out the sheer dread on her face as she struggles to keep calm. 

After all, she is entering the palace where her child had been slain for secrets she didn't have. 

"What's she like?" You whisper to Dashiq. You try to push down the thoughts of the conversation you'd only had a day or two prior to arriving, in which Luna had murmured words of death and passing, of failure. You bite your lip when you see her flinch from the corner of your eye. You wonder how at all the Commander was so heartless if she was raised by a woman like her. Dashiq cocks his head at you over his shoulder. You specify, "the Ice Queen."

"Cunning, vicious, heartless," he lists in short, wincing when he sees Luna growl faintly under her breath at the description. You realize they're words you'd once used to describe _her_. Now, as you approach the palace walls, a sickening churning in your gut tells you that even after she made her deal with Emerson and Cage, not even the Commander deserves this. Dashiq stiffens against your back as the imperial guards wave you to the courtyard where her highness waits on your arrival. You swallow the fear burbling in the back of your throat and instead choose to remain stoic.

The town is quiet inside the palace, with not even a merchant to make a sale or a street scum to sound a peep. It seems like a barren land, void of life or sensation. It reminds you of the time you crashed as the hundred in the middle of nowhere, only to find out you weren't alone after all. You close your eyes and bite your lip as you wind your palms tighter around the healer's forearms. It takes a few moments of dreadful silence, parading your horses through the dead streets and bare courtyards, before you hear a roaring coming from the gated castle walls ahead. There's cheering and hollering, chants of blood and death, and as you spare a glance at a pale Luna, you know that this isn't going to be good.

Dashiq quickens his pace, and before you know it, you're there.

Upon seeing you, the two guards standing post grin and welcome you in with almost open arms. They insist you and Luna dismount. The guards lead you and the leader of the _Floukru_  through the narrow corridors, growling at Dashiq and the warriors to stay behind and wait for the Queen's further orders. The healer snorts in disagreement, but you don't miss the flash of worry in his eyes. Reluctantly, he obeys for the sake of his company. You don't feel particularly strong as you tug your hood over your head and pad after the leader of the Boat People. The side streets are dank and smell like alcohol and wasted potential. You're pretty sure that there's an acrid stench of urine in there, too. You scrunch up your nose and suck it up.

After all, you've smelt worse things.

(Burnt bodies, children, elderly, _friends_ …)

You snap yourself out of the daze and turn back to the present, watching as you're paraded into the castle itself. It's a massive building, one you're sure must be out of a story tale. You almost gawk at the sheer architecture of it all, from the rustic cobblestone walls and the gothic finishings on the roofs. If this had been anyone else's, even the dreaded Commander's own prized possession, you would've found it slightly charming, maybe even alluring.

And then, there is the room.

You're thrust into a hall with dim candles and an absurd amount of paintings on the wall. It reminds you of Dante's old storage cell down up in Mount Weather. The memories of that place still give you shivers. The guards bark out to stay, and that the Queen will see you momentarily before they leave, slamming the door shut behind them. Another roar from a crowd bursts through the wooden barriers, causing the picture frames to vibrate slightly. Luna's eyes are wide and fearful as she stares at her feet, unable to comprehend that she could very well be standing where Costia had once been thrown and bound. Her eyes search the floor widely, as if to pick up any sign of the child she'd lost too many summers ago. Your mind drifts to her when another cheer booms from the doors opposite to the one in which you'd arrived. Luna licks her lips and steels herself when you glance her way.

Then, the door opens and you are flooded with light.

You have to blink a few times before you manage to see a tall, arrogant looking woman stride in. Her hair is a musky brown, like rotted leaves after a fall shedding. Her eyes are a piercing green, and when you think of them, you remember Luna's story, of Costia and the Commander. You force yourself to stand straight as she waltzes over to you, hawk-eyed and smirking. She passes a glance to Luna, but for some reason, she is more interested in you.

" _Klark kom Skaïkru_ ," she says your name with a sickening amount of sweetness. "Welcome to  _Azgeda_. It is _truly_ a pleasure."

You don't speak. You don't know what to say. 

The Queen only chuckles at your lack of response. She steps forward to gingerly place her palm upon your cheek, her thumb tracing the line over your jaw bone. She scans your confused eyes and grins with a smirk, nodding in approval. She then lets you go with a sharp pat to your shoulder before turning to Luna with a glare. Her body position changes and you sense the hostility filtering into the tense air. The leader of the Boat People does not flinch under her smouldering stare as the Queen's hands roam over her side, her lips curling into a tight snarl at the sight of her. You can see Luna holding back the urge to punch the taller woman, but she doesn't move. Instead, her eyes flicker down to something around the Queen's neck.

"Where did you get that?" Luna breathes out, her fingers twitching. The Queen smiles wider at the recognition.

"You like this piece?" The Queen asks with a chuckle, following her gaze. "I got it from a sweet merchant girl. Hm… what _was_ her name again?"

" _Em ste nou yun_!" Luna snarls out viciously, her hands reaching for it. "You bitch. You murderer. You killed my little girl!"

" _Chil daun_ , Luna," the Queen laughs as she swats her hand away like a fly. "You should know that if I want something, I _take_ it."

"It's no wonder Lexa wiped your people out during the war," Luna spits at her feet, nodding her chin up violently. "You bring shame to our culture, you savage beasts. You deserved more than just the death of five hundred warriors. You are the real _natrona_ , not our Heda." At the mention of the Commander, the Ice Queen only growls and whistles. Without breaking her stare, two guards rush in and wait for orders.

" _Ye ste kwelen_ , Luna," the Queen hisses lowly, watching as Luna's eyes water. "Just like Costia.  _Leksa_."

"Stop," you blurt out, unable to take the pain harrowing in the older woman's eyes. For a moment, you are reminded of your own mother. "What's done is in the past. You cannot bring Costia back, Luna. She is dead now." The words leaving your mouth are not the ones you want to say, but you remember that love is weakness. At once, the woman that'd trusted you with the story of her daughter, of _Heda_ , turns to you with shock. You ignore how her heart breaks in her gaze and the rising smirk of the Ice Queen. The younger woman stares at you with a beaming grin before nodding to her guards.

"Take her," she says, not looking at Luna. " _Klark_ speaks true, Luna. If you want to see Costia, so be it."

"Wait," you says as your eyes widen with the realization sets in. Once again, you've said something without thinking about their repercussions. It's then when you realize how crafty the Queen is. Luna doesn't thrash in the arms of the bulky guards as she is dragged away from you. Her eyes are cold and blank, they remind you of Raven's own after you'd killed Finn. You try to speak but the Ice Queen's arm wraps around you and leads you away from Luna and towards the light - a podium. Before you know it, you're being led down to a courtyard surrounded by Grounders, cheering and screaming.

And there is blood on the grounds. So much blood.

"Klark," the Queen says, her voice slithering in your ear as she points to an empty chair in the viewing area, "come. Sit with me, child."

There's another roaring cheer from the crowd as you sit down reluctantly. You swallow with hesitance as you look to these Grounders, the people that would've slain you upon first sight before you'd taken out the Mountain. Now they look at you like you're some sort of a hero or messiah, but you can't understand why. Their cheers are louder now as you watch a door from the opposite end of the courtyard open. A small child steps out, wielding a sword too big for his hands and an a tunic that barely covers his scrawny skin. His dark skin glints with sweat, even though it is not warm outside. You guess that he's seven or eight years old, too young to be in battle or holding a weapon. You want to cry as you hear more cheering from the crowd.

"Can I tell you something, _Klark kom Skaïkru_?" The Queen hums as she leans back into her chair with ease. "It's somewhat of a personal secret. I've been meaning to share it with you for some time now." With a flick of her fingers, she motions for the guard to open the other door. At first nothing steps out, and all you can see in the darkness of the entrance. Your stomach flips with the increased stamping and incoherent hollering.

"I like you," the Queen whispers in your ear. "You have done what our beloved Commander never could've done in her six years of ruling. You brought down the Mountain Men, those retched snakes that have been bleeding our people dry for centuries. Do you know what they call you - what _my_ _people_ call you?" You'd heard a few whispers of it when the guards had retrieved you. Still, you play dumb and shake your head. 

" _Wanheda_ ," the Queen drawls with a short laugh, "do you know what it means, Klark?" 

"Commander of death," you answer in short. You gulp and look at her as she smiles and nods. You feel your insides churning as the Queen flicks her fingers to the men in the crowds, cheering and screaming for exactly what you had been named for.

This is why they enjoy your presence. You are as ruthless as them.

You want to be sick.

"If only you'd come to me and not to that pathetic girl we call our Heda," the Queen says with a slithering coo. "If you'd wanted vengeance for your people, you should have sought the alliance with me. My warriors are _bred_ to kill. It is why the Commander fears us. I gave her the head of the one she loved, and yet she did not take _my_ blood. Tell me, is that not weakness in itself?" You remember Heda telling you about her, about love. You remain silent as you feel the Ice Queen's fingers trail up your arm, lightly grazing a few scars from both the Mountain and your time spent alone in the woods.

"Look Klark," the Queen hums as she turns her gaze back to the ring, "this is the product of controlled chaos. Of _true_ power."

You watch as something shifts in the shadows by the door. Its movement is lethargic and weary. Fear churns in your gut.

"You have enabled me to do something that I've been waiting five summers to do," she hisses again. You watch with horror as the figure finally steps forward. The Queen grins from beside you, nodding at the guards. One of them knocks the woman with his staff, causing her to fall to her knees. She does not react as she stands back up, her gaze cold and distant. She rises to her full height and straightens her bloodied shoulders, refusing to appear weak. You want to leave, to run. You never wanted to see her again. To see her face or her eyes or her _lips_. You close your mouth and repress the gasp.

" _Heda_ ," the crowd roars with disgust upon her entrance, " _nau yu na wan op, Heda!_ "

The Commander is not like you remembered her.

No, despite the weeks that have passed, it feels like years as you stare down at the once strong, rallying woman. Now what remains is a shell. Still, her kohl is painted on her face, but now streaked with blood. Tears in her uniform indicate that this is not her first fight, that the red lines of broken flesh are from battles fought long ago. Some of it is fresh (leaking from a cut above her eye), while others are dry and you're left wondering just how long she has been here. The Queen preens at her entrance, watching with bated breath as Heda stumbles forward with her sword gripped loosely in her hands. She doesn't look up at you, but you can see that her eyes are tired with age and defeat. She looks so much older, like she has stayed for years when you know it has to be at most three months. You notice that she is no longer wearing her sash or shoulder guard. She only dons her sword and bracers. 

"What are they saying?" You ask dreadfully as she goes to heave her sword into her arms. You can see her glance at the child, eyes widening slightly upon noticing him. It's like they know each other from the way they exchange a silent conversation.  You turn to see the Ice Queen is grinning at you with a sly, knowing expression. You know what she is going to say before she opens her mouth and your heart breaks. No, it shatters within the walls of your chest as she turns to the once-great Commander and nods at the boy. She stands and jerks her head up, looking up at her warriors with pride.

And then, she bellows into the crowd with a raised fist. _"Now you will die, Heda!"_

The crowd roars again and you stand straighter. Yes, you wanted blood for what'd happen to your friends and people, but not like this. Not how Luna had told you on your ride over to the castle. Not when you see her reduced to nothing but an animal. Not when she bleeds before the fight has begun. Not when she is fighting for her life in an arena that demands her _death_. You wanted her dead, yes you'd definitely wanted her dead, but not like this.

You pull at the Queen's arm and she snaps her jaw shut, glaring at you. A silence befalls the crowd at your action because _no one_ touches the Queen and lives. And yet, she allows your touch for the sake of the watching the Commander behind you. You want to ignore the silent plea of your name that leaves her broken lips. It's full of remorse and longing, of things that she was never meant to have and when did, always lost. You do not look at her.

"Why kill her?" You dare to ask, hiding the quiver from your voice. "The Mountain Men are dead. You can finally live in harmony."

"No, Klark," the Queen tells you with a harsh chuckle. She points to the Commander, small inside what remains of her armour. " _She_ is the reason why we had war in the first place. She is the reason why my people were stripped of their basic human rights. We united soley for the sake of taking out those retched monsters on the Mountain. Now, thanks to you, they are dead. Heda is not needed, _Klark kom Skaïkru_. In fact, I see more need in _you_." You shiver at her words, watching as her icy eyes scour over your own. Her gaze is piercing, like she's peering through a looking glass and into your soul.

"What of me?" You ask, your voice slightly breathy. You hazard a glance back to the Commander. The Queen grins with appreciation.

"Join with me Klark," she whispers into your ear, "align yourself with me and we can kill all that remains of their people together. We can fortify ourselves in their lands. I know of the Mountain and how much it offers in terms of technology. But I also know how it came to be torn down. I know that what Heda did too, betraying you like the coward and traitor she is, killed so many of your own. She did it on purpose, to attack you. She's cunning, you see. _Ruthless_ , even. She will do anything for her retched Tree People and no one else. She talks of sacrifice, but you know that the choice she made was a choice made out of selfishness, not out of her people's interest. She is a coward, their Heda, but I am not. I am a _Queen_ amongst my men."

The crowd roars again, goading on the Queen as they listen to her speech. You try to step back and out of her reach, not wanting to be a part of her dictatorship-like leadership, but her hand latches around her bicep and whirls you around to face the Commander. You refuse to look into her eyes, because you know what you've done now. Heda had told you that this is not your fight, that plans change in battle. She'd scolded you with lessons that you'd refused to adhere to, and now you are staring at the body of a woman that is facing the consequences of both your actions. You killed the Mountain Men. You saved the Commander and the Grounders. You saved everyone but innocent people. You think about Maya again. Jasper.

_What did you do?_

"Tell me Klark," the Queen hums once more, "wouldn't _you_ want to be a queen, too?"

The words are alluring, and every time you glance at the Commander you can't help but feel them sink deeper into your flesh until they are a part of your lifeblood. You have made your choices, and the pains of the past will never be lifted. Parts of what the Queen says are true. She holds real power, the power to keep your people safe and warm during the testing winters that lay ahead. She has the power to protect and serve you. With the thought, your blood churns with a sickening amount of pleasure. You always considered yourself to be a pacifist, but you soon learned after the Mountain that there is no peace in war. Not before, not after. There is only revenge, death, and blood. It is how the world works, no matter how hard you try to fight against it. No matter how hard you will yourself to save everyone, there must be sacrifice. You know that now, even though it still _haunts_ you.

You feel your fingers clench around the wood of the armrests. She's not even looking at you, and you're not even certain that she knows you're here, watching her. You want to scream at her, to get her attention so she can see that you survived, because that's all she'd talk about. _Survival_. But you have not come this far to survive. You still feel the weight of the people you've taken so _hers_ can live. You still feel anger and resentment towards her.

You still want vengeance for what _you've_ lost.

"Your job at the Mountain secured my chance to bring her down," the Queen urges rapidly in a low hiss, "but I know you want to seek revenge. I know that it burns in your blood and that you want nothing more than her to face all that you've lost. You want what is _yours_ , Klark. I am offering it to you."

You brought down the Mountain Men. You killed your people. You are tired, plagued, depressed. You don't have a home or a family, or even friends. You've hurt all your hands touch, or turned it into something less pure. You suddenly understand Finn's motives, or Murphy's psychotic ideas. You understand what it means to be a leader, and you know that the Commander has given her last lesson to you. The sacrifice was made. You did what the Grounders never could. With your victory, you have destroyed the only thing the Commander ever wanted for her people, her _clans_.

And now, as a reward for her cowardice and your success, you have brought her head to them on a silver platter.

 

**Bellamy**

 

"That's Clarke!" Octavia gasps out as she rises from her seat on the stands. "Why did she bring Clarke?"

You look to see that Clarke is alive, changed and battered and completely different, but she is alive. Your heart leaps out of your chest as you rise. Echo's hand pulls you back down and she points to Lexa. You follow her gaze to see that the Commander has not even looked in the Queen's direction. There's a smirk that plays at Echo's lips as you're forced back into your seat. She adjusts herself, still gripping your arm tightly as though you would jump and leave at any given moment. You swallow your fears as Octavia watches you sit, confused by your action. Even Lincoln looks slightly guffawed that you let Echo control you. His eyes are filled with rage and some other unreadable emotion.

"We have to stop her from getting killed," Lincoln says, and even though he doesn't like Clarke, you can see that her state worries him. It's not just your friend, though. He worries for Lexa, who prepares to face the dreaded duels. "The Ice Queen will murder her." Echo shakes her head besides you and laughs, finally releasing your arm as she folds her hands in her lap. Her eyes are trained on Lexa only.

"Clarke is not here for the Queen to kill," she tells him, "but for an alliance. You brought down the Mountain Men. Nia finds it admirable and wishes to align herself with the one that had managed to break the ever-spirited Heda." You frown in confusion, turning to face her with a scowl.

"But we killed _Azgeda_ people amongst our own," you counter with disbelief, "shouldn't she hate us, too?"

"No," Echo tells you, and the look in her eye makes you realize that it had not been you to have played the Commander, but her. "The Ice Queen sent her people to the mountain to get power. If they get killed, it is not of her concern. But, now that she has learned of Heda's demise, she has reason for her death. To her, the act of leaving is an act of treason. As Commander, she should have saved _all_ our people, not just her own. That is why the other clans did not protest her capture." You slump back in your seat, processing just exactly what the girl is telling you. Beside her, Octavia and Lincoln growl.

"You may take us for fools," Octavia snarls, "but Clarke will _not_ join with the Queen. She's smarter than that."

"Heda turned her back on your friend. It is _because_ of the Commander that Clarke carries the burden of her people's death. If she'd stayed, you wouldn't have had to kill them all." Echo's reply is short and cruel, and you can't help but flash back to the meeting you'd had with Lexa a few nights ago in her cell. Your eyes close when you remember how many burdens the Commander carries, too.

"Clarke won't seek revenge," Octavia challenges defensively, looking to you and Lincoln for support. "Clarke fucked up but _she's_ not fucked up."

"Oh Octavia," Echo laughs as she reaches over to squeeze your sister's hand. "We're _all_ fucked up."

"Are they going to kill her?" You ask, thinking of Costia. Echo shakes her head and scratches her arm. There is a speech being made, but you don't care for what Atohl says this time. Your eyes are glued to Echo and then to the girl you've loved since you fell to the earth. "Are they going to kill Clarke?"

"No," Echo replies in short. "But she will kill Heda."

"You said that the last trial is a duel," Octavia growls as she points to the small boy in the ring, looking lost. "Why did they send a child?"

"The trials are of _character_ not of brute strength, I already told you. Heda is meant to kill anyone that stands as a challenge. If the traitor is a woman, a child, an elder, or a man," Echo explains as she glances to the boy. "This one is from the _Trigedakru_. If she is truly Heda, she won't hesitate to kill him. A leader should be prepared to kill anyone, no matter their relation they may share. If the Commander believes in equal rule, she must end his life."

"What did he do wrong?" Octavia breathes out, tears welling in her eyes. Echo smiles again.

"Nothing," she answers truthfully, "but _everything_ at the same time."

"The Queen shows no mercy," Lincoln gulps from beside her. You see his eyes narrow into slits as he stares at the Royal Highness seated next to Clarke on the podium. "That is why so many Grounders chose to follow her after Heda took power from Anya. When she first united the clans, not many people followed her. It was mostly _Floukru_ and _Trigedakru_. The Desert Clan came after, followed by the River Clan. The Ice Nation's hierarchy always demanded more blood and Lexa did not want that. She refused to fight internally anymore, to call an end to the injustice of Grounder brutality. She is not blood-lusted like the Queen. She cares for her people above everyone else. When she sends someone to die for her, she does it for everyone."

"That is what makes her weak," Echo snarls, disagreeing with the exiled Grounder. "She is spineless. A _coward_."

"Would the Queen not have done the same thing?" You ask pensively. "If it were her on the Mountain, would she not have saved her own?"

"No," Echo says as she growls at you, "she would have taken back what was ours. She would've taken the Mountain, even if it killed everyone."

"And how is _that_ better?" Octavia asks, guffawed. "How is it even remotely better if you are slaughtered like pigs, without a fair fight?" You can see it set in her eyes, that maybe Lexa's decision isn't at heartless as you've all made it out to be. It's an understanding that has come too late, however. Echo only smiles and gazes wistfully at her Queen, at the tyrant you're sure is about to sentence the only fair leader the Grounders have ever had to her death.

"Because it would've been on our terms," she says with a dark bite to her voice, "it would've kept our honour to the _end_." 

 

**Lexa**

 

There are a thousand and one ghosts today.

You hear the cheering and goading in the crowd, for your blood. You watch as all those you've ever killed with your own hands stare back at you, blankly, silently, their eyes piercing with tiny white daggers. They are black wisps with hollow gazes, but they surround you in a ring of death. You are a shadow now, lost to the plagued sickness in your mind. Costia is not here. Anya has left. Gustus, gone. Your father is void of the ring before you. All you see are the people you've killed in cold blood, and the boy who stands in front of you, who has no choice but to join their ranks.

 _This is not the first time_ , you remind yourself, _you must go on._

Whispered calls of  _Wanheda_  fill your ears, talks of the girl from _Skaïkru_ from the guards that'd handed you your sword, but you are numb to it all. Clarke should be here, she should be the one that you see. She is the ghost that you bled the most. The one you betrayed when you swore to protect her. Her voice calls in your ear, almost like she has joined the lot of deceased that swarm you. The boy is shaking in front of you, and you recognize him.

Lukas. Indra's nephew.

After the death of her people, he is the only boy that tied her family together. And now here you are, the almighty Heda, about to bring her sword down on the boy that her general had fought to protect, that would die over if she were needed to. You know that you would've taken him as your _seken_ when he became of age. He has potential for so much good, to be a leader. You grit your teeth and glare at him, furious that these are your ways - that your ancestors set these rules that involve _blood for blood_ instead of peace. The boy cries at the sight of you, urinating over himself in fear. Lukas' sword is trembling and you know that he doesn't want to fight you - he doesn't know _how_ to - because he loves you. He is the one that played with you, the one that gave you a flower crown before the fall of the _Skaïkru_ , that said you were his hero and the greatest Commander even when he'd known no other.

" _Beja_ ," he whimpers weakly, tears streaming down his face. " _Beja, Heda, beja_."

"No," you tell him sternly, watching as his jaw snaps shut and he nods solemnly with understanding. " _Ste yuj, mou._ "

" _Sha, Heda_." He tries to get the words out without crying, but he's just a child. You clench your teeth and grip your sword tighter.

It is weak to beg, but you know that he cannot fight you. You were never like the other children. You learned to wield a weapon at five, to kill at six. You were bred and born to be a leader, a warrior. You bear wounds than most do not live through and fight battles even your soldiers cannot survive. But no one knows that the real battle wages in your head, in which plans are disorientated and your heart is a traitor to your head. You hold your sword closer.

 _Feeling is weakness,_ you remind yourself,  _feeling is what brought you here in the first place._

"You felt for me once," Costia's voice crawls through you, clenching at your heart, "was that a lie too,  _Heda_?" 

Heda.

It was the term that she never used with you. It was always _Leksa_ or _hodnes_. Never Heda. Never Commander. You hated the word since you'd first been found out. You never wanted to lead, never wanted to kill. She knew of your burdens and she took it upon herself to heal you because that's what she did best. She was not cut out to end lives, but to use her hands to bring them back into the world. Her voice was never sharp or cruel like it is now, slithering through the jagged impasses of your damaged mind. Her touch was never cold or unwelcoming. You realize, as you glance at the trembling boy before you, that you've lost  _Leksa_  in the siege waged in your head. Somewhere in there, between the time you'd lost Costia and now, you lost the true essence of yourself. After she was gone, no one was there to hold your head up late at night when the terrors were the most gruelling. You are broken and weak, harrowed by the countless ghosts that infect your soul. And now, you've become the monster they see you as. _Wanheda_ is not _your_ title, but it should be. You are the killer here, not Clarke. You sent her into that Mountain to save your own.

Their deaths are on _you_.

" _Biyo moba, ai hodnes,_ " you whisper back to her voice, your breath hitching. You don't deserve her love - her forgiveness - even from past the grave. You can feel her head lolling at your feet, her dead gaze empty and staring. You can smell the rotten flesh splattered against your shins, coating them in a fresh layer of gore. For the first time, you feel void of her affection. You're becoming what she _hated_ and you can't stop it. You wonder why she still seeks to comfort you. Maybe the affection was never meant to bring you peace, but to haunt you instead. You bow your head and look at the boy. 

Lukas is sobbing now, but you can't hold back. You will bear the burden of your people like Gustus said you should. 

You step towards him slowly, your sword still at your side as you look down at him. The fear is raw in his shimmering eyes, his fear of you, of what is required of you to do in order to save all your people. Your lip quivers and only he can see amongst the cheers and the ghost how torn you are. You kneel before him so that you are at eye level. He is silent as he cries harder, refusing to reach forward and clamber against your knees like he would do back in the camp, back before the world brought _you_ pain. There is no more love and affection in his dark eyes. He carries no innocence. He is to commit a sacrifice he never asked for, but must do because it is what is demanded _of_ him. He must take a burden that no boy should bear.

He doesn't worship you anymore, doesn't revere or respect you, but looks at you like you're a stranger.

"Lukas," you whisper to him again, but he remains still. " _Ste yuj, nami? Winnes set raun bakon kom givnes._ "

" _Sha_   _Heda_ ," he says without a tremble to his voice this time. You hate how defeated and distant he sounds. You know it's because of you, because _you_ are the leader that decides who lives or dies. Yet, you question yourself: who gave you the right to play the hand of the Spirits? You are no God.

"You are the bravest warrior I have met," you tell him gently, keeping the crack out of your voice. "You bring honour to us all."

"With death," he mutters, gritting his teeth. He nods his head up and looks at you with empty eyes. You want to gasp, to reach out and tug him into your arms and kill him softly in the same way Clarke had once done to Finn, but instead you remain still and nod. You are not Clarke. You do not have luxuries such as merciful killings. You just look down at him in silence, taking in the blank expression in those dark eyes. 

To him, you look like a demon.

In some sick sense, that comforts you.

 

**Clarke**

 

"Tell me this is not what you wanted, Klark," the Queen hisses in your ear, her tongue close to the shell of the organ, "when she left you to _die_."

Again, the crowd cheers. You can hear cries of cowardice chirping. You glance at the boy. The Commander is kneeling before him, but she is not speaking like she had been moments ago. Her back is rigid now, her sword still by her side as she stares at him. It creates an aching hole in your heart as you gaze at their interactions with contempt. He is a child, not a warrior. He doesn't stand a single second in a fight against the woman who'd betrayed you. He is not meant to fight someone as seasoned or powerful as _Heda_. You want to rise from your seat, take her sword, and kill her yourself. This is not how peace should be made between two leaders, with the blood of a child. It should be made with understanding, ethics, morals.

None of that exists here and you know it.

"He won't stand a chance against her," you tell the Queen, but she nods and laughs. "He's a child. You… you can't do this." 

"You didn't wish to kill those children," she replies in a tone that makes your stomach lurch, "but you did, did you not?"

You are silent. You still don't look in her direction when the question leaves her lips because you both know that she is right. The Queen turns back to the people, starting another rallying speech. You watch with wide eyes as a pair of guards pry the Commander away from the child and to a spot a few feet from him in the ring. They shove her and shout insults that you cannot understand but she does not waver. Her eyes are on the boy and the boy alone. You can see a slight glean of sweat, the only indication that she's still present, still aware that she is about to kill a defenceless  _child_.

"The Commander has taken her reign for too long," the Queen roars out into the crowd of eager Grounders, interrupting your gaze with Heda. "You have _seen_ the injustices our people face. You have _felt_ the famine and the war, and now it is time for Heda to pay! She commanded twelve clans, and now she will fight until her death for the mistakes of her cowardice! She will bring our honour back with the spillage of her blood, and the blood of her people."

The crowd screams for her blood and pumps their fists in joy. Your breaths are picking up now because here you are again, killing someone you'd trusted. A woman that'd shut everyone out but let you in. A woman who'd let you see the surface of her broken frame. You may not have held her heart in your hands, but you certainly can't deny that there's still something there. You don't know what it is, whether it can be salvaged or not, but it's there. It's screaming at you, pleading for you to do something to save the one person who made you feel so big in a world that constantly made you out to be nothing but miniscule. She revered you like none of her other most trusted generals or war chiefs. Yet, you don't have to help her. You don't _want_ to help her for once. You may be _Wanheda_ , but she is the Commander. _She_ betrayed _you_ at the Mountain. You owe her nothing.

You made your sacrifice. It's her turn now. 

But then, you watch as she turns and looks towards the Queen. Her eyes do not glance at yours, like she is locked on the woman who'd stripped her of everything, of love and honour and all those things she'd once valued so deeply in her heart. The Queen stares her down from the elevated platform, glaring at the bloodied Commander with narrowed eyes and lips curled to reveal pliant teeth. She glances back at the trembling boy, a boy you can't help but get the feeling that she _knows_ , and then back at the Queen. Her sword lowers and the guards behind her tense. The Queen flashes them a look and they freeze in their position, waiting for the orders from their leader. The Commander's mouth opens and your heart stops.

"Wait," her voice is lower than you last remember as she steps towards the Queen. "I atone for my mistakes. All those will be slain in my presence. There is no greater fighter than I, Nia. This trial is pointless. I have killed more people than you have seen. Do you really think that a boy would bring my death?" The Queen snorts at her remark and even you seem skeptical at her nonchalance. You glower at her knees, unable to look at her eyes for the fear of knowing what rests in those cold, emotionless green eyes. The Queen puts a hand to her hip, her armour glinting in the chilling afternoon sun.

"What are you proposing, Heda?" Nia snarls in her direction, reaching for her sword under her belt. "You know that the time for negotiations are well over. You hold no true power here, but alas, I'll be fair. Humour me with your suggestions." The woman stalks forward with a prowess and level of power you have not seen in anyone before you. She whips out her weapon, pressing the blade against the calm neck of the younger Commander. You glance over to see that Heda's not looking at you either. _Love is a weakness_ , she'd said. You see why now, and it burns you alive with rage. 

"I will fight," she tells the Queen quietly. "If I die, the reign of  _Azgeda_  belongs to you only. Yet, if I live after the twelfth person presented to me, I will face  _you_  in the ring. We will end our quarrels as it is meant to be: _to the death_. Two enter and one leaves." Your jaw drops at her daring proposition, but she refuses to hazard a glance your way. You know that she does not see you. Her eyes are glazed and distant. The Ice Queen ponders, before she smiles slyly. She slides her sword back into her sheathe and sits back on the throne, beckoning at the guards to shove the boy further into the ring.

"I accept your proposition," she says with a smirk, pointing to the boy. "Your first opponent awaits, Heda.  _Get snap._ "

You don't know why you expect her to fight back, but this is one of those 'head-over-heart' things. She must stay alive, because if she dies, the woman next to you will kill everything that she's ever worked for. All the peace that'd once laid on the grounds will be lost. You are coaxed back to your seat by Nia as the horns sound, signalling the start of the first duel. The boy begins sobbing again as he stands before the almighty Commander.

For a moment, Heda is still, watching the boy with a narrowed gaze. There's hurt and remorse in her green gaze, you know it's there and it pains you so badly when it tempts you to look away, but you can't help but stare on when she whispers quietly that his fight is over - to not be afraid of death. For a second, there's a flash of empathy, _understanding_ , and your heart betrays you when it clenches at the thought of her own childhood, in which she'd already killed in the time you'd learned how to read and write. The boy nods, his tears coming faster as the Commander draws her sword. 

"She is weak," Nia growls impatiently, "look at her,  _Klark kom Skaïkru_. She is  _weak_."

You hear the sickening slice of his head as it severs off his body. The crowd roars as his blood spills out onto the courtyard. You hold back the urge to vomit and instead glance back up at a heavily breathing Commander. Her back is slouched and the grip on the hilt of her sword tight enough to almost crack metal. From afar, it looks as though she'd fought a tactful battle, when in reality, she'd barely moved. But then, she straightens and wipes the emotion from her face, stepping back from the dead boy as though he'd meant nothing at all. That his life was but a speck in hers. In a sense, it was. You feel the anger burbling higher in the base of your throat. You want to scream out, to shake her. Why must everything be seeped in blood?

Why must everything revolve around _death_?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRANSLATIONS:
> 
> Sha - yes  
> Shof op - quiet  
> Branwada - fool/idiot  
> Seken - second  
> Bro/Sis - brother/sister  
> Taim ge smak daun, gyon op nodotaim - if you get knocked down, get back up  
> Mebi oso na hit choda op nodotaim, sis - may we meet again, sister  
> Em ste nou yun - that is not yours  
> Chil daun - stand down  
> natrona - traitor  
> Ye ste kewlen - you are weak  
> Ste yuj, mou - stay strong, boy  
> Biyo moba, ai hodnes - forgive me, my love  
> Winnes set raun bakon kom givnes - victory stands on the back of sacrifice  
> Get snap - be quick
> 
> AH SO MUCH TRIGEDASLENG HAHA
> 
> Thank you so much for the kudos and comments! Please, please, keep leaving them! Like I said, this is my first time writing Clexa like at all, so I have no idea if this is any good or not, haha. I hope that I'm not butchering it too badly with my AU version of post season two events. All feedback is welcome!


	5. fight your foes you're not alone, holy war is on the phone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> asking to please stay on hold, the bleeding loss of blood runs cold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warnings: Violence, Light Mention of Previous Self-Harm, and Minor/Original Character Death
> 
> Part 2 of the last of the Commander's dreaded trials. There's more killing and gore in this one, so be forewarned. The self-harm warning is for the first few paragraphs in Raven's section at the beginning and one line in Lexa's first section, and is not at all heavy or graphic. Yeah, I'm not at all good with keeping the violence not-so graphic and gory, so apologize for that. I don't think it's too gruesome in this chapter, but I could also be totally wrong (apologies if so). There's only one more part for the trials after this and then we move on into more Clarke/Lexa relationship and healing development.
> 
> I just want to say thanks again to all of you that have left comments and kudos on this work. I'll have the next chapter out tomorrow or the day after, and then it will be a short break while I tend to updating my other pieces on the site. I don't usually do mass uploads like this, haha. It's very rare :P I just hope that my absence will be made up in the form of long chapter compensation? Perhaps? LOL.
> 
> The chapter title/summary comes from the song, "M4 Part II" by The Faunts (YAY MASS EFFECT)

 

**Raven**

You wake up gasping, breathless yet again after another nightmare.

"Rae," Wick murmurs beside you as you rise up, wincing at the lancing pain in your spine. "Raven, what are you doing?"

"Shut up," you snap as you roll over on the bed and reach for the brace. You fasten it tightly, avoiding his peering gaze at the back of your head. He tries to get up, but you shake your head at him and stand. Reaching for your crutches, you hobble to your feet and bite back a howl of pain.

The drill sounds keep playing over and over again in your head. High pitched, teeth-gritting, nail-biting, and abhorrent _screaming_.

You're going insane.

"Raven, I'm worried about you!" Wick says, obviously distraught with how tears are streaming down your face and into your shirt. You shake your head again and hobble away from him, muttering something about needing air and for him not to follow you. He's been loyal to you ever since returning three months ago, but you can't help but feel like a burden to him - to all of them. You grab at your small pairing knife and head for the camp entrance.

"Running from your problems?"

You spin around to see Finn standing at the front of the bunker's entrance, a signature smug grin placed on his face. You scowl at him and turn away, continuing on your way towards the front of the gate. You wipe away the tears that fall down your cheeks and continue walking into the dark of night. You curse yourself as the cold nips at your exposed arms and ripped pants. Bolstering your energy, you bite back the fighting throb in your leg.

"You really hate me that much?" 

You cock your head to the side to see Clarke standing at the edge of the radio tower, a frown tightening her lips. Your heart palpates when you see Lexa come up from behind her with a shit-eating grin, before you watch the bastard Commander's hand place itself on Clarke's hip. In horror, you're forced to bear witness to Lexa leaning forward and placing a delicate kiss upon your friend's (or ex-friend, you don't really know anymore) lips. They kiss for what feels like an eternity, sucking the air from your lungs when they finally pull away and smirk at you.

"I took a deal that benefited my people," Lexa tells you as she winds her arms further around Clarke's waist. "Yours didn't matter."

"That's why I waited," Clarke adds, smiling harder. "You don't matter, Raven. Why do you think it's always about you?"

"Stop!" You scream at her, trying to back away. In your haste, you miss the grip on your crutch and end up tumbling backwards onto the ground. You gasp out in shock as the cold hits your side and your leg burns. You glance down to see spots of blood around the stitched line that keeps breaking loose. Clarke removes herself from Lexa's side as she walks over towards you slowly, like a predator stalking her prey.

"You know," she murmurs as her hand reaches for the knife in your palm. You feel her fingers encase over yours, tightening the grip of the knife before pulling it closer to your chest. She angles the blade so that the tip presses ever so slightly against the spot just above your breast. "I think it would be better if you just didn't exist. Your attraction to Finn was nothing. He never loved you. Neither did Bellamy or Wick. You are nothing, Raven."

"Clarke, stop. Please," you beg her as more tears stream down your face. The blade inches closer with each slight pressure from Clarke. The blue-eyed woman only laughs sadistically, pushing the dagger closer towards your skin, close enough for the layer to break and blood to pool out.

"Weak," Finn says with a shake of his head as he steps beside Clarke, reaching down to hold her hand and help her through it. Lexa nods, approaching from the side with Octavia and Indra to watch as more blood starts to bubble out of the tiny incision that's only getting bigger.

Together, they speak in unison, their voices deathly and elegiac. "You are so weak, Raven. Always weak."

"Please," you sob as you feel the blade dig in deeper, "please stop."

"You set me up," Murphy's voice drifts through your mind as you watch his cold fingers loop over Finn and Clarke's. You can't breathe at how painful the cut is, or how hard it is for you to even see straight. None of these people are here. You're alone, but you don't feel alone. Lexa hisses and laughs.

"Weakness will befall you, Raven of the Sky People. Because of you, the boy you loved had to die. Now look at where you've gotten yourself," she snarls at you as you watch her pull her sword from her sheath. She lowers it to your neck before nodding to Clarke, Finn, and Murphy.

"Slit it," the Commander orders with a sly grin. "Let there be retribution."

"Retribution," Clarke, Finn, and Murphy mutter in an echo as they slide the blade upwards. You scream out in agony as the knife cuts a smooth line into your skin from beneath the fabric of your shirt, drawing blood in its path. Before you know it, you have the knife pressed against your jugular, waiting.

"Now!" Lexa howls. "Kill her, now!"

The three of your former friends grin as they push the blade into your neck. You howl and screech as the tip of the dagger barely makes an incision into your skin before it's yanked from your grip. You glance hazily above you to hear muffled voices. Clarke, Finn, Lexa, and Murphy are gone, replaced by the blurred image of Captain Miller, Marcus Kane, and Abby Griffin hovering over you. Yet, you cannot speak because you are still sobbing harshly.

"What happened?!" Abby demands, tears welling in her eyes at the sight of you writhing on the ground. You wail in agony as she presses something against your skin to quell the bleeding. Her eyes rake up and down your body with a distraught expression, like she is unable to figure out what possessed you to try and end your life. You want to tell her that it wasn't you, that those people that betrayed you are the ones controlling your mind, but you can barely form a coherent sentence with your incessant screaming and crying. Abby orders something to Miller, but you don't hear it.

"Ssh," she tries to whisper calmly as you try to break from her strong grip. You're suffocating in her hands, wishing for nothing but the pleasant burn of the blade to return to your skin and spill your blood. You want to die, no matter how hard you're trying to fight the pain of the past.

"Hang on," Abby murmurs as you're loaded up into a stretcher and brought back inside. You feel cuffs on your wrists and ankles, which only causes you to scream and thrash harder. Kane is beside you now, trying to comfort you with quiet words but you can't hear them. All you feel, see, and need is death. You fit in the confines, your memories trying to drag you back to that dungeon chamber where they'd siphoned your blood from the bone.

"Kill me," you hiss to Abby through gritted teeth, " _please_ just kill me. It hurts too much."

"Raven, no!" Kane says in return, placing a hand to your head to stop it from thrashing against the back of the stretcher. You're really pissed now. You glare at him and Abby, thrashing uselessly in your constraints as you're being taken to the medical section of the Ark. You glare at Wick when you pass him, ignoring how he stares at you with such loss and fear that you almost forget that you're a real person.

"Kill me," you plead with a harsh cry as they set you down. Finn watches from the corner with Clarke standing next to him. You scream at their projections, wishing that they'd just give you a moment of peace. Murphy and Lexa are behind Kane, watching with displeasure and sheer disgust. You glance back to Abby, who's frantically checking your pulse and shining a light into your eyes. You snarl at her, jaws snapping like a feral animal.

"Get me a sedative!" Abby orders to Jackson as he comes into the room in full scrubs. "She's out of it. Now, Jackson."

"Kill me," you repeat with more ferocity this time as you thrash your head back once more, "just fucking _kill_ me! That's what they all want!"

"How much, Ma'am?" Jackson asks as he approaches with the needle and bottle. Abby quickly snatches it from him as Kane goes to roll your sleeve up. You try to wrangle away from him, growling profanities over and over again until your voice goes raw. Abby injects the liquid into your veins and you howl, sobbing in frustration as you feel your body begin to relax and your muscles loosen their tense strain. You feel your head spin and mouth dry out.

"Just relax," Abby whispers softly, her hand reaching up to stroke your forehead as more tears just roll down your face. "Just relax, baby. We're gonna figure it out, okay? You're okay. You're going to be okay, I promise." You let the repeated words lull you into a slumber until you are finally limp.

And then, the darkness pulls you back in with its death grip.

 

**Lexa**

 

You don't look at the head.

You know his eyes are open, because Lukas was always a stubborn one. He'd gone in the same way he'd came. He learned from you, from when you'd told him to always look death in the eye and to never turn your back. In a sad sense, you are proud of him for keeping true. His soul leaves to add to the shadows of ghosts that encircle you in the ring. You stare at his reflection, his eyes now white as he nods at you with a charming grin. You swallow thickly, the acrid smell of blood wafting from your sword. You lower it as the crowd continues their cheering. You are deaf to them, to all of them, but you must continue. Yet, their noises are drowned out by the faint murmuring of the ghosts around you. They surround you in their horde, threatening to drain you from your strength. All of these people have died under your command or by it, but you must remain deaf to their tempting calls.

You did not suffer this long to fail before _her_.

You gaze back to the throne to see the ghost you'd been waiting to see since you'd left the Mountain. You smile at her, mentally calling out for Costia to look and see that you are not insane, that her shadow is real. She plagues you now, in these times of complete and utter desperation, but damn you if it feels so right. It's a pleasant kind of pain, one that reminds you of your younger days when your healing involved your dagger and your arm. She doesn't smile at you - in fact she looks _horrified_. She looks too real, with hair as light as the sun and eyes as blue as the sky. She looks too alive to be a ghost. 

But then you remember _you_ are alive, but you are a ghost, too. 

"So ruthless," Nia chuckles, getting your attention as the body of the dead boy is hauled away. His head remains on the ground, eyes still open and staring glassily at you, his stare mocking. You turn away from him and face the Royal Highness with a set jaw. You refuse to crumble, not before her.

"Why don't you give me someone more challenging?" You demand back, gritting your teeth as you force the words from your lips. _Strong, Heda, be strong_ , Gustus says in your ear as the Queen rises from her seat, walking down the podium to stand before you. You grip your sword tighter.

"Not yet," she hisses quietly, only so that you can hear. "You still have lives to pay for, Heda."

"Then bring them to me," you snarl menacingly. You cast a glance over at Clarke's ghost, watching as her expression forms one of disgust. You revel in it and smile. You are the Commander that they all revere because you aren't afraid to spill blood. You are not afraid. You know no fear.

_Who are you?_

Costia's voice is there again, trying to pull you from the dark side of your mind - the side that aches for blood and violence. You let out a faint breath and back away before the Queen can notice your moment of weakness. You glance around the ghosts and search her out, angrily smacking your sword against the dusty ground when you do not see her face. Still, you can almost feel her long arms winding around your middle, her face pressed into your chest as she sobs for you to stop and just walk away. Nia is watching from behind you, a sly smirk painted on her pale face as she returns to the throne.

"Very well," she says with nonchalance. "Bring her out, Atohl."

The Queen is grinning harder now as she waves for the next opponent. You turn your head, following her gaze as you watch a pregnant woman come out. You recognize her as Yatu, wife of Rivo, a man that is loyal to your side. He's one of your second-in-commands on the battlefield. He'd accompanied you on the way to flanking the shooters. He'd been shot down, but not killed. You know he's back in TonDC recovering from his wounds.

"Yatu," you say sternly, trying to let the menace drip into your voice. You can't have the Queen think you are weak. You already gave too much away when you cut off Lukas' head. You need to get back some leverage, to get back into the mindset of ruthlessness that you are revered over. Yatu only spits and shakes her head at you in disgust. She's heavily pregnant, nearly ready to give birth in a few moons time. You wonder if they'd have a son - Rivo always dreamed of having a son so that he may teach his boy the ways of hunting and fishing.

"You don't get to say my name," Yatu snarls back at you viciously, wielding her sword in her dominant hand. "You bring shame to us all."

You stare at her now, refusing to acknowledge the hatred in her eyes as she cups the swell of her stomach with her free hand. Rivo was always struggling with fertility. This would be their first child. A strong child, based on the many health scares the young woman survived throughout her term. She grips her sword a bit tighter in her hand, but you know that she doesn't wield the power to use it. As much as she wishes to hold some fight against you, she is not capable of being swift or strong. Unlike Lukas, it is not about ability. She is one of the finest warriors of her clan, but she is heavy with child. A child that maybe could've served under you like Lukas. They would've made for a fine warrior if they were born from Rivo and Yatu. Yet, the child will never see it through. You will never get to train them, just as Yatu and Rivo will never be able to endow them with love and care. She does not have the strength or stamina to fight for her unborn child and in the back of your mind, you are sickened by how unfair a fight this will be. You choose to ward off the negative, hindering thoughts of weakness and instead grip your sword tighter, your gaze growing colder with each passing second.

"They are right," Yatu hisses as you approach her, "you are  _natrona_ , not Heda."

Before you can speak to her, she reaches out and jabs her weapon into your left shoulder. You don't wince or flinch, and instead you press further into the metal. Her other hands reaches out and grabs at the tunic under your light armour and wrenches it downwards. You hear the cloth tear and your chest, bare for the wrapping of your breasts, is revealed and exposed. The words they'd carved into your skin are there for the world to see. She grits her teeth and spits in your face as she shoves the blade deeper into your flesh, using your shirt for leverage as she pulls you closer. Her mouth is strained into a tight line, her teeth flashing from beneath her chapped lips. You do not speak, for you cannot find the words. 

You will _never_ find the words.

" _Wan op,_ " she snarls at you with tears in her eyes, " _yu joka._ "

 

**Octavia**

 

"No way," you mutter as you watch the pregnant woman wrench the shoulder deeper into Lexa's skin. "She can't fight both a boy and _her_!"

"This isn't fair. This isn't justice," Bellamy agrees with you as he clenches his armrests tighter. He looks over to Echo and grabs her arm roughly. "We have to do something! We can't let her die." Echo raises her brow and chuckles lightly, shaking her head at you and your brother like you're idiots.

"It's tradition," she explains in a low drawl, "you can't break tradition. If Heda does not kill her, the Queen may have her head."

"This is bullshit," you growl, standing and pointing in the direction of the pregnant woman. "She's not capable of fighting."

"Everyone is capable, girl. Men, women, elders, children - these are our ways," Echo snarls at you, her glare piercing through your soul. Lincoln places a hand on your palm, returning you back to your seat. You look at him in disbelief. Surely, he doesn't believe the same things? You communicate the question to him in silence, but he bows his head with a low sigh. Slumping back into your seat with defeat, you barely are able to choke out a cry.

"You wanted to be a grounder, then embrace our ways," Echo says to you sternly. "You do not just get to pick and choose. You see us as barbaric and primitive, but you do not understand that we must have order. If one person doesn't follow the rules, then we all descend into chaos." Your jaw drops slightly at her excuse of an exclamation. It barely makes any sense to you. This doesn't seem to do anything other than prove Lexa as a murderer.

"Then change your rules," you plead as you try to reach for Echo. "I mean, you can't honestly think this is entertaining, can you? How in the _fuck_ is this even considered to be a duel? I thought that the duels were meant between two warriors, not two people completely in different leagues."

"These are our ways, _Okteivia_. Live with them or go back to your Sky People, living under the floors like a rat," she hisses at you, her hand placed over the hilt of her dagger. Before you can even respond, Bellamy and Lincoln turn on her, glaring viciously and silently warning her to back down.

"Don't you dare talk to her like that again or I'll fucking slit your throat, don't test me. You may think that we're here based on the promise of an alliance, but we want nothing to do with any of this," Bellamy snarls as you feel your anger burbling up to the back of your throat. Echo only laughs.

"Then what do you want?" She asks curiously, crossing one leg over the other. "Peace? Prosperity? Your people are _weak_ , Bellamy."

You go to answer the Grounder when suddenly, Lincoln grabs at your arm and points back down to the arena. All four of you turn to follow her gaze with a shocked expression. The pregnant woman has suddenly drawn up her sword and yanked it free of Lexa's shoulder. Atohl steps back onto the ring and holds his hand up, causing the guards with the horns to raise their instruments. Lexa and the woman take a step back, their weapons drawn.

"Yatu doesn't stand a chance," Lincoln whispers, his voice cracking as he bites his lip. "She shouldn't even fight back."

"Weak," Echo murmurs again with a chortle, "I see why the Commander exiled you."

"Enough!" Bellamy snarls at the Grounder, his own hand reaching for his gun. He goes to say something more when the horns sound and the duel commences. You can't help but turn your attention back to the ground, where Lexa has leapt forward, slashing at Yatu as soon as the noise stops.

The older woman cups her swollen stomach with one hand and parries the thrust of Lexa's blade with the other. She uses her body's weight to shift the momentum around, acting mostly on defence. There's not much she can do for attacks, other than the occasional slash and jab. There are tears in her eyes as she screams with each mark Lexa makes. You can see that the Commander looks just as distraught, but her blade remains quick and sharp. She cries out as she is sliced in the stomach by Yatu, causing her to be pushed back. Trying to use that to her advantage, the pregnant woman stumbles forward and twists her sword so that it points downwards. Letting out an angered cry, she goes for the stab, but Lexa is too quick.

A swift roll to the side allows her to barely miss the incision. Yatu says something in _Trigedasleng_ before whipping the sword back into her hands and preparing herself for Lexa's charge. There's hesitation when Lexa hears the pained howl as her sword comes in contact with the side of her arm, throwing her back a few paces. She stumbles back to her feet, her weapon held out defensively as Lexa stiffens and goes to strike again.

"They all have to die," you breathe out as you watch Lexa kick her in the stomach, causing the other woman to convulse in pain. Lexa's physical features show signs of breaking, and you suddenly understand _why_ this is the most taxing trial. You gasp in horror as Lexa forces back a sob and raises her sword. Lincold holds his breath and grits his teeth when she pierces the blade downwards. Luckily, Yatu draws her own weapon up and stops it from making contact. There's a clang as the metal is weaved away, the sheer force of her deflection causing Lexa to stumble to the side.

"If you want the Heda to live, then yes. There is no other way," Echo says nonchalantly, watching the battle with eager eyes. For a brief moment, you wonder if things were ever this bad on the Ark. If fighting to the death meant killing innocent people for the sake of saving others.

Pulling up her sword, Yatu uses Lexa's moment of weakness to return the blade back towards the incision she'd made before they'd begun their duel. The Commander hisses as she's stabbed back into the same shoulder. This time, instead of pulling away, she leans closer like she'd done before. You can almost hear the sickening crunch of flesh tearing as the blade digs deeper into her skin. Her kohl remains dark and unstained by tears, only blood.

"Please," you beg as you watch Yatu's breath become more laboured, "please just let it _end_."

 

**Clarke**

 

"This is sick," you whisper to the Queen as the Commander draws a sharp breath. "You cannot call this a fair fight. It is stupid."

You can see Heda's hand trembling. The blood seeps over the wound after what the pregnant woman has done. Scratches and bruises line the both of them, and while the woman had put up a decent effort, she is no Commander. You watch as she growls something in _Trigedasleng_ to the Commander, her eyes lit with fury and betrayal. You gulp as you watch as the younger woman wrenches herself free and draws up her own bloodstained sword. The front of the Commander's shirt is pulled down and torn completely now, and you can see an angry red set of scars in the form of letters donning her sun-kissed skin. Blood travels down her heaving front in a light sheen, glossed by sweat. There is no emotion in her eyes as she raises her weapon, staring directly at the pregnant woman. The older woman does not cower or shiver. She just waits. The Queen grins at your response.

"No, _Klark_ ," she coos in your ear as you watch the sword pierce through her belly. "It is _smart_."

Then, it hits you, as Heda pulls her blood-soaked sword from her womb with a trembling hand, that this trial is not meant to hurt her physically.

It's meant to break her _emotionally_.

The body slumps to the ground and the Commander bites her lip to hold back a cry when she steps back. You grimace when you see the insides of the womb, of the faint outline of a fetus now marred and tattered. A fetus that was meant to be a child, now slain by the hands of the woman who'd sworn to protect them. Bile threatens to rise up in your throat once more, but you suppress it with a soft gag. Heda only focuses on calming her breathing. You watch as her knees wobble and her hands shake, but she stays steady on her feet. You can see the tremble that passes down her spine, and for a moment you think she's going to be sick by the pale green hue her face takes on. The Queen raises her brow and stands, reaching for her sword in anticipation. As she is about to speak, the Commander opens her eyes and sets her face again, trying to look away from your leering eyes.

"Is that all?" Heda growls out, but her voice is breathy and weak. "I expected better from you, Nia."

A snarl curls up the corners of the Queen's lips as she is forced to sit back into her chair and remove her hand from her sword. She looks to you, her expression darkening when she makes out the distrust starting to weave its way into your gaze. You avoid her peering dark eyes and instead fixate your stare on the Commander's feet. You notice that her boots are torn around the tops, revealing the barest amount of chaffed skin.

"Next!" Nia roars angrily as the crowd cheers again. "Bring the Commander what she wants!"

Heda's knees shake as she watches them bring forth another Woods Clan boy. Instantly, you recognize him as the brother of the man who'd accompanied you with Quint's betrayal. That man had given his life to keep you from _pauna's_ prying hands. Now his brother stands before the woman that'd once been his saviour and hero. He glances at you with disdain before setting his gaze on the Commander. He raises his sword, but you know that he's just a kid. In the same way most of you are all kids, really. He steps forward as Atohl goes out to raise the horns once more.

"Begin!" Atohl bellows out as the horns vibrate their deep resonating sound. You almost don't want to watch.

The Commander doesn't hesitate to parry the first jab he sends. He's eager, too eager. You may not be a seasoned hand-to-hand combat veteran, but even you know better than to solely be on the offensive. He's shaking and crying as he's cornered and backed away. The Commander is trying to take it easy, to find away to end his suffering without bringing him much pain, but he's fighting against her. He's resisting the urge to be weak. Yet, as you continue to watch the interactions go around, you can't ignore the sickening feeling in your stomach while watching the wounds he endures.

"A child should not take this long to vanquish, Heda." The Queen's sneering voice jerks you from watching. "Finish him already!" 

Ignoring the Queen's cries and the crowd's taunting jeers, the Commander continues to let them spar around the ring for a few moments, slicing and jabbing. He's putting up a good fight, one that serves as something rather than the immediate defeat of the previous offerings, but he is slow where Heda is swift. He misses a dodge and takes her sword through his shoulder. She kicks his gut and sends him to the ground before piercing the blade through his heart, ending his life quickly and as painlessly as she can. She doesn't stumble when she straightens this time. You can feel the burden in your arms now, snuggled tightly against your side as the Commander removes her sword, panting with exertion. Blood drips to the earthy ground, almost as quick as her breaths leaving her lungs. You can see the panic starting to skim the surface of her eyes, but she is offered no recuperation.

She looks so small, standing in a pool of blood from her own people.

"Tired yet, Heda?" The Queen takes another jab, trying to weaken her resolve. The Commander shakes her head, though you can see the quivering of her shoulders. She's trying so hard to not let it get to her, but not even the great, seemingly emotionless _Heda_ can't escape the burdens she faces.

"Never," she spits out in return, "I told you. I will not fail."

Grunting in frustration with her lack of faltering, Nia waves impatiently for the next person. You angry with the Commander, but when she looks at you, she's seeing right through you, like you're but a distant image in her mind. Her gaze is haunting, but your rage burns stronger. You read the word on her chest, clearly visible now. The word is not in English, but it does not matter. You know exactly what it means and why it's there. You agree.

She _is_ a traitor.

 

**Abby**

 

"How is she?" Wick asks nervously, shifting his weight from foot to foot as he stands over Raven's unconscious frame. You see him eyeing the leather straps around her wrists and ankles with concern. He's scared, but so is Raven. Now is not the time for you to show fear, too.

 _Fake it,_ Clarke had once told you. _Bear it so they don't have to._

"We're doing what we can for her," you tell him gently as you go back to check her fever. "But, I think that her trauma is catching up to her."

"Trauma?" He echoes softly, almost as if he's unsure. You nod and glance down at the girl you consider your own daughter. You swallow thickly and reach out to smooth away a few strands of hair that have messily clung to her sweaty skin. You tuck a few behind her ear and sigh, closing your eyes.

"What Raven has gone through in the past months has been more than taxing on her mind. I know that Clarke and the other's have been through similar things, but Raven had been abandoned in that drop ship to bleed out for God knows how long. Then, she was strung up and cut into by Lexa and the Grounders on the false accusation of poisoning the Commander. She was drilled into and nearly killed by Cage for bone marrow. Finn was killed by someone she trusted, someone that loved him and he loved back. Raven's been holding it together by repressing her emotions, but I can tell you that it's all caught up to her now," you explain as quietly and calmly as you can. Though, it doesn't stop your voice from trembling when you feel her flinch under your touch. Wick takes a sharp breath, biting his lip as his eyes water in worry. You want to comfort him, but there's nothing more you can do.

"She hasn't been sleeping," he admits softly, "I mean, she tries, but she always wakes up screaming."

"PTSD," you mutter under your breath, pulling your hand back from Raven's face with a scrunch of your brow. Wick cocks his head at you in confusion.

"Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder? But Raven's not a soldier," he questions. You let out a soft bark that resembles a sad laugh. You stand from where you'd been sitting at the girl's side and walk over to Wick, gently pulling him away from the sleeping girl and towards a window.

"Out there, we're all forced to be soldiers," you whisper sadly, thinking of your daughter. Tears start to burn at your eyes when you remember her being wheeled in after having been mistaken as a Grounder. Your daughter had been shot on your own turf because she was trying to protect herself. You think of her at the Mountain, of how she'd pleaded so desperately to be the good guy, to do the right thing. She'd tried so hard to do the right thing.

You really are the worst mother.

"Will she get better?" Wick asks, breaking you from your thoughts. You feel your heart twist in your throat.

"I don't think any of you will," you admit quietly, taking another steadying breath. "The things you've all seen…"

"I only saw a glimpse," Wick confesses as he turns his head to look back at Raven. "I mean, I just killed one man and I felt like my world came to an end. From what she's tried to tell me, she's seen more death than I think half our guard has. I don't know how she keeps it together. Well… used to keep it together, I guess. She's always been so strong. She had no one on the Ark. No one except for Finn. I don't want to replace him, but I do care about her."

"That's the best you can do," you tell him, reaching up to rub calming circles into his shoulder. "Raven needs someone to lean on right now, even if it's just in the form of a friend, Wick. I know you care for her, but Raven needs time to care for herself first. She needs to heal. It won't be easy."

"It never is," Wick says with a defeated murmur, "it just… it's not fair, you know? Earth was supposed to be better than the Ark."

"I know," you hum sadly, thinking back to Thelonius and his choice to leave you all behind in search of some Promised Land in the middle of a desert. He used to be a man of honour, one that would stand by his people and protect them. He was willing to suffocate with those in The Culling if it hadn't been for Kane telling him his importance. But he can't play the hand of God. He cannot make decisions based on who lives and who dies.

No one can.

"We need her," Wick mumbles as he goes back to sitting at her side. One of his hands loosely tangles with her own, earning a faint squeeze in return. You eye the bandages on her chest and neck, blinking slowly as to take the scene of it all in. You are immediately taxed with thoughts of Clarke and her safety. You wonder if she's as haunted as the girl strapped to the table in front of you. You wonder if her sanity is slowly slipping with each day.

"I need her," Wick cries softly, tears starting to drip down his face as he squeezes Raven's hand tighter. "I love her. I know she doesn't feel the same way and I'm willing to be whatever she needs, but fuck me if I don't think that she is the world, the moon and the stars and all that poetic shit she hates. She's everything to me, Abby. I can't lose her." You almost break at his confession, but you hold yourself together for both his sake and Raven's own.

"She'll be okay," you whisper hoarsely as you join his side. You rest a hand on his heaving back as he sobs into Raven's still hand, his other arm covering his face to shield you from his tears. You just continue to offer silent support, your eyes trained on the girl in front of you, lost inside her own war.

"She'll be okay," you say again, a bit stronger than before, "she has to be."

 

**Bellamy**

 

You watch as the body of another woman and boy are dragged away. Octavia is crying beside you, but you just feel hollow.

Lexa is slumped over now, no longer able to stand straight anymore. Her breathing is hard and laboured, her clothing bloody and torn. A few of the old wounds have been reopened. Her light armour is ripped down the middle from Yatu's first claw, and has left her stomach exposed. The word _natrona_ gleams on her slick skin for everyone to see. Each time she removes her sword from the ones she kills, her hands shake harder than before.

"How long can she keep this up?" You ask Lincoln, knowing that of all people seated in the room, he knows Lexa the most. He's seen her here before. Her skills, her strength, her courage, but as you glance at him now, eyes clouded in worry and raw agony, you know that it can't be good. The Grounder only licks his lips and bows his head as the Queen continues to taunt the ever wearying Commander with leers and insulting slurs.

"I don't know," he murmurs as he watches Lexa's gaze flit over to Clarke. The expression in those harrowed green eyes makes your heart ache in the worst ways imaginable. You never knew that you'd have so many regrets over making a decision such as this, but you can't help but feel remorseful at the sight of the beaten down Commander. Kane once called her a visionary, and Lincoln had agreed. You hadn't seen it then, her forms of peace.

She was willing to let the eighteen-man massacre be answered in the form of one life. She was willing to make a truce with the people that burned three hundred of her warriors alive. She negotiated for the peace and safety of the Sky People if she were to fail the trials. She _does_ care, and you know that she does no matter how much you try to ignore it. She could've done so much worse than leave you at the Mountain. She could've killed you at any given moment, but she let you live. She let you take her to the retched Ice Queen, despite knowing the consequences of her surrender.

You don't care anymore. Lexa is _not_ weak.

"Even if she survives the trials, this shit is gonna live with her," Octavia whimpers as she wipes away more tears. You want to shield her from this, because you're her brother. You shouldn't have brought her here to watch her former Commander be beaten to a mental pulp. Echo nods in agreement.

"That's the whole point," Echo says with a grim smirk, "the duels do not hurt the Commander's physical body - rarely, if it does. The previous trials are responsible for the pain of her betrayal. The duels serve to make everyone realize that she does not have an exception from law just because she is Heda. If she is fit to lead, she must be unforgiving. She must be impenetrable to emotion. She must be strong." You grit your teeth and shake your head.

"But the rest of you can feel," you argue angrily, "the rest of you are allowed to love, to live without this kind of pain. If she really is not an exception, why must she not show emotion? She's human, too. No matter what you may think of her, that woman down there is just as human as us. She feels things, too. She is capable of love and compassion, and that is not a weakness. I know you think she's ruthless, but I know she has a heart."

"A good leader chooses with their head, not their heart," Echo counters. You can see Lincoln's jaw is clenched tight at her answer, like he's visibly refraining from saying something that could potentially put his friend at risk. You watch as Echo shrugs and leans back in her chair. "If she makes a decision with her heart, it is because she is-"

"Weak," Octavia finishes with a low, sarcastic growl, "yeah, you mentioned that."

"You ever wonder why your people failed to survive beyond the drop ship?" Echo asks, her tone turning serious as she looks at Octavia with a harsh glare. "Do you ever realize that perhaps the reason why only fifty, of the hundred that landed, survived is based on your emotional distractions?"

"How dare you?!" You bellow out, standing with your palm over your gun. "You attacked _us_!"

"You crossed paths with the Woods Clan," Echo says with a soft bark, "what did you expect?"

"This is not a conversation for right now," Lincoln says, bringing you back to the present. You want to continue fighting, especially at the presence of the cocky grin on Echo's face, but you know that this moment is not about the past. Half your people are dead, but right now, you must focus on saving the ones that still survive. You sit back down with a low growl, trying to ignore how even being in the Grounder's _presence_ makes your stomach twist.

"They're bringing out someone else," Octavia murmurs tiredly as you turn to the ring once more. You glance down to the podium where you can see Clarke's eyes, however small and distant, staring into Lexa's heaving back. When the Commander turns at the sound of yet another sneering remark, you watch as Clarke narrows her brows and growls at Lexa like she's a feral animal. Lincoln shakes his head and closes his eyes, letting out a breath. You swallow thickly before turning to face him. The veins in his head are clenching with each pained gulp he takes.

Another woman comes out, her sword drawn and at the ready. Lexa looks at her pitifully as she goes to raise her own. They exchange a few words, too quiet for you to pick out in the roaring crowd. You can see the Commander slowing down. She's not moving with as much fight as she'd done before, which only further eggs on the Queen and the crowd chanting for her death. The woman manages to slice a few good nicks into Lexa's skin before the Commander's blade slashes at her throat, bleeding her dry. You're almost certain there's enough blood at her feet to make a lake.

Lincoln's head nods up wearily, his eyes glued to the dead woman on the ground. From the ring, Lexa glances up at him with a mournful, apologetic glance that he can't reciprocate. You watch as she sways slightly, her eyes growing a bit glossy as the body is dragged away mercilessly. Another barrage of slurs comes from the Queen's mouth, all serving to taunt her into submission. Still, Lexa stiffens her back (slower than before) and sets her jaw. Her fingers are coated in the sticky crimson liquid, and her kohl is messed and tainted. Her sword hangs loosely at her side as she waits. 

"You knew her," you say to Lincoln as the body is carried out of sight. Octavia flinches, but Lincoln only nods and sighs.

"My late brother's wife," he whispers as tears well in his eyes. "I… I know why she has to do it, but…"

"It doesn't change the pain," you say quietly, looking back to Clarke. "Yeah. I know."

 

**Lexa**

 

They keep coming.

Warriors from your own clan. People you'd trained with, grew up around. People that told you they would die for you, that love you, are facing you in this damned ring, adding to your collection of shadowed ghosts, watching and waiting for you to break. They stare at you with each kill you make. You can hear their faint murmurings slithering in your ear. They creep down into your skin and float through your veins, asphyxiating you from the inside out. You don't even know how many have died so far, but it's already beginning to drown you. Your heart beats slower than before.

Another man is taken out from under you, to be dragged away into the pile of other bodies that stare at you with blank gazes. You almost drop your sword because your grip is so slick with blood. The shadows around you have crept closer, so close that you can feel the cool breeze of death gliding over your shoulders. You look at the stack of bodies, struggling to figure out why it had to be you. Why did their lives end with _you_?

First Gustus, now all of them.

The only semblance of family you have left, are slowly dying at your hand.

The eighth person to step into the ring is Tomac. Unlike the previous others, he only has his bow and arrows. Your heart almost stops when you face him, but you do not let your feelings show. He's a few years older than you, with a scruffy beard similar to Gustus' own. Tomac scoffs with a light-hearted jest as he takes his bow from his back and loads it with an arrow. He stands almost four heads taller than you, but to you, he never seemed like a giant. He is the one who kept you sane besides Indra and Anya. He speaks with his mind and speaks true. He would tell you stories as you'd aged, of the Heda before you. How he'd been a yongon when he'd ruled. You would ask him about his greatness in comparison to yours.

He is the one who kept you humble.

"So this is where we stand, Heda," Tomac says as he steps closer before stopping. You gulp, trying to stay strong. Tomac only smiles.

"I will not apologize," you tell him, but you can't keep the waver out of your voice. Tomac huffs and laughs again. 

"Stubborn as always, _osir Heda_ ," he says like you are not about to fight him to the death. "You haven't changed much since you were a _yongon_ , with armour too small for your frame and sword too large for your hands." You don't like the feeling of his smile as he winds his bow up and prepares to pull back the coiled string. The others spoke of your treachery, spat words of hatred in your face, but Tomac is still smiling and you are feeling so  _weak_.

"My daughter is still young, Heda," he tells you, still staying calm and collected. "When you win, tell her that I love her." 

"Tomac," you say his name, but he shakes his head, the smile wiping off his face in order for his lips to form a tight line. 

" _Ste yuj, Heda_ ," he tells you quietly. "Do not be afraid. One day, we will meet again."

When the horn blows, he pulls back his arrow and you charge forward. He backs up as you slice at his arm, your blade just whizzing past his elbow. He smacks his bow downwards, threatening to pull your arm from your shoulder. You can see in his eyes that he doesn't want to hurt you, doesn't want to drain you of your strength required to face the Queen in the final duel. But, he knows that if there is not a show put on for these leering Grounders, both of you will die and all of this will be for nothing. But you like that. You want to feel as much pain as you can, because the thought of taking someone's life without a fair fight leaves your stomach unhinged and nauseas. _Ironic_ , you think, as you remember how you'd severed Lukas' head.

The back of Tomac's bow smacks into your face, sending you sprawling back into the dust. You growl as blood spurts out of your still healing nose, littering the front of your chest with more of the crimson liquid. Tomac doesn't wait for you to rise up as he kicks you in the ribs. A faint gasp leaves his lips when you curl into a small ball to ward of the pain. The cheering followers of the Ice Queen roar at the sight of you so pathetic and tiny on the ground. Out of the corner of your eye, you watch as Nia reaches for her sword, a grin plastered to her smug face as she sees you on the earth floor.

Letting out the first real, heartbreakingly broken battle cry since the final trial began, you kick your leg out and send Tomac to the ground with you. For a moment, you're reminded of the times when he'd teach you how to hunt in the woods and you'd both just end up play-fighting. You'd both come home to a scolding Anya, who'd tell you about the responsibilities of being Heda and how you didn't take it seriously enough. You never did, not before Costia's death. You wanted to be innocent and free like the other children. Yes, you loved fighting and sometimes hunting, but you didn't want to lead. You wanted to love and run wild, chasing Tomac into the trees before pouncing on his back. You want to go back to the time you'd make him challenge Gustus to a berry eating competition, or how they'd both take turns carrying you, their _Strik Heda,_ home after a particularly taxing hunting session.

"Remember that even in death, I will always be there," Tomac tells you as his fist connects with your face. "You are not alone in this world. Take your strength from those who have given it up for you. Your mind has always been your greatest weapon, Commander. You are a prodigy of our people."

You tousle and parry another jab as he speaks, rolling your body atop his. You place your knee into his gut and hold a hand against his throat. You try to grip, but your hands are too cut up and shaky to tighten properly. The tears are stinging at your eyes now, giving him a window. He is able to fling you like a rag doll across the sandy pit, earning another holler from the Grounders. You struggle to your feet, barely gripping your discarded sword.

"Fight, _Leksa_." His voice is strong and calm as he picks up his bow and arrow again. You can see the expression in eyes. He's staring at you so knowingly, so pitifully. He's the man that you'd keep around when you and Costia would run away together for some time away. He was the one you told first (alongside Gustus) about how Costia had kissed you and how different it'd been and how _in love_ you were with her. He has so many of your secrets hidden behind those dark eyes. He carries so much of you, the weights that you'd not been able to carry yourself, but now you must take them back.

"You are strong," he whispers once more as he nods. He draws back the arrow when he strongly says, "you were destined for this, _Strik Heda._ "

You scream with the birth of your nickname from his lips. You raise your sword above your head as you charge forward with a lightening pace. He fires his arrow the minute your sword slices through his stomach. The pointed tip of the steel arrow pierces your already injured shoulder, its target precise as it spears through the same incision Yuta had made a few fights before. You hiss, but not with pain. It is the semblance, the sheer meaning of his shot that makes you gasp. Tomac's eyes are soft and gentle as he falls back to his knees, and then finally to his back. He lands with a soft thud. You fall with him, your foot on his chest as his lips tinge with blood and his eyes gloss with death. They stare at you, just like the rest of them.

" _Ai na ai em op_ ," you whisper as you slowly pull your blade out. You let the arrow remain wedged in your shoulder. You will carry the weight.

"I promise," you tell him as you watch the guards come to drag him away. "I will watch over her."

The crowd roars in equal parts disappointments and awe with your accomplishments. Tomac was a strong warrior, one formidable enough to give you the first real challenge of the duels. The guards come out and take away his body silently, but you watch until he is placed amongst the others before you glance back at the Queen. You turn your head to find her staring at you with no expression - completely blank. She expects you to break but you will not crumble. Clarke's ghost sits beside her, watching you with harrowed blue eyes, but you do not look at her now. You do not wish to acknowledge that she is colourful and wholesome while the others are dark and translucent. You only breathe and jerk your head up arrogantly in Nia's direction, silently telling her that you are not done, that you will never be done. You take a step towards her, but do not approach the podium upon which she sits. You only hold your sword firmly in your hands and glare into her, your eyes set on her icy stare. You hold her gaze until she finally speaks.

"Give up," she sneers with a sharp bite to her voice. "Your fight is over, Heda." You shake your head and grit your teeth.

" _Ai gonplei nou ste odon nowe,_ " you tell her coldly. You repeat in English as you look to Clarke's ghost. "My fight is  _never_  over."

 

**Clarke**

 

This is not what you wanted when you said that you'd keened for her blood. This is not what you could ever want.

As the tenth body is taken from under the Commander's trembling frame, you watch as Nia stands. You glance up at the Queen as she pads over to the ripped open stomach of the last Woods Clan warrior. He looks no older than fourteen summers, but he is dead now, slain by the Commander that he'd once come to worship and adore. She'd once told you about how warriors should be able to look at you and die for you, but this is not what you'd imagined. Heda's chest is heaving and her body is covered in blood, some of it hers but most of it her belongs to own people.

The arrow from Tomac is still lodged deep within her shoulder, though the edge had been ripped off when she'd fell with the last fight. Her shirt is torn open to reveal scarred, glistening abs and intricate tattoos around her ribs. The skin is rough and marred by countless gashes, some which you recognize as old and others that appear to be fresh - either from this battle or the ones preceding it. Her muscles are lean and clench with each pained breath she takes, but she does not cave, does not call mercy. At first, you'd despised her for doing such a thing, but as you see some of the Grounders start to murmur amongst themselves about her, you know that this is the only choice. You wonder if you would have the strength to do the same.

 _No_ , you admit softly, _it's like raising a white flag, I could never do this._

Never is a lie, and you know it. 

(Dante's gasp and the children's screams still haunt you.)

The Commander's eyes are still bearing into you hauntingly, like you're not really here.

"I am surprised you have not broken yet, Heda," Nia chuckles at her, watching with a sly grin as the kohl drips down her face from both blood and sweat. She is tiring, not from exhaustion, but grief. As much as she's trying to block it out, but it's bearing down on a girl that was never meant to hold such a weight. It's in that moment you remember that she is nineteen. She is _nineteen_ and has killed most of her own with her own sword. You killed the people with a button, and they'd been people that were strangers. When you pulled that lever, you never saw the light leave their eyes or had them under your feet at your mercy. You had done if from afar, in which only from a television screen you saw them burn to death. You hadn't been _there_.

Suddenly, you find yourself pitying Octavia and Jasper.

You realize there's a difference between taking a life when it stands before you and killing a person indirectly, when you look in the Commander's eyes. You see the difference with the slight greying of her once vibrant green depths. You see the difference in how her shoulders now look like there is a massive boulder crushing them. You see the difference in how she limps towards the Queen, not from physical injury but defeat. 

There are so many differences.

"I have a surprise for you," Nia says smoothly, grinning harder as the younger woman's chest heaves. The carved word in her skin is bleeding lightly, as if to add an emphasis on her betrayal. There's so much blood and you can't help but ask how she is still alive, still breathing, still _fighting_ when she is losing everything. You know that besides the need to be Commander, to serve as a guardian of her people, she is still human. She is still a _girl_.

When Nia calls out for Indra, you know in the way her brave face all of the sudden just plummets - and a heartbreaking _no_ leaves her cracked, bloodied lips - that the she is not just a warrior, not just the almighty Commander or the revered  _Heda_ called by a divine spirit to lead her people.

She is _Lexa_ , too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRANSLATIONS:
> 
> Natrona - traitor  
> Wan op, yu joka - die, you fucker  
> Yongon - child  
> Ste yuj - stay strong  
> Ai na ai em op - I'll watch her  
> Ai gonplei nou ste odon nowe - my fight is never over
> 
> Thank you so much! Please, PLEASE leave a comment if you're liking this/not liking it/are indifferent/or just wanna say hi :) They honestly feel so great to read, especially considering this is incredibly taxing to write (both emotionally and physically). I just want to know it's not too over the top or unrealistic.
> 
> I do read everything y'all say, I'm just very bad at replying at the comments! I will do it soon, though. Thank you so much for all the support you guys continually show with this fic, and for most of my other stories if you're reading from the Korrasami fandom! You guys are the bomb! :)
> 
> Cheers! :)


	6. i'm waiting and fading and floating away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> if i go anywhere that you want me to go, how will i know you'll still follow?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: Original/Minor Character Death, Blood, Gore, Violence, Decapitation.
> 
> Part 3 of the last of the Commander's dreaded trials. This is the FINAL part that involves violence or death for a few chapters. From here on out, it's gonna be Clarke/Lexa relationship growth and healing because good lord Lexa needs some TLC after all the shit the Queen put her through. This one is a very long chapter, mostly because I didn't want to draw out the trials too much and make it redundant. 
> 
> Thank you so much again for all the comments and kudos on this work! I appreciate it so much. Please send a comment if you can, they help so much more than you'd be able to know :) I will try and get back to y'all as soon as possible. For now, this will be the last chapter until I update the Korrasami fics I have.
> 
> The chapter title/summary comes from the song "Panic Switch" by The Silversun Pickups.

 

**Lexa**

 

The screaming intensifies as the chief of TonDC is brought out. Her clothing is tattered and eyes darkened with sorrow. She looks nothing like the woman you'd only been talking to a few hours ago. You know that she must've watched when you decapitated Lukas. There are the faint remnants of tear stains on her cheeks, and her lips look chapped and raw. Your chest heaves as the skies overhead start to cloud and a thunderous boom cackles.

"You know the rules, Heda," Nia snarls as she goes back to her throne with a satisfied grin. You'd prayed after she left that it wouldn't come to this, that Nia would spare some mercy especially after you took away your general's nephew. But your hopes were blindly placed, your prayer unanswered.

Your sword nearly drops when you look at Clarke's ghost in panic. She looks absolutely heartbroken, not vicious how she'd been earlier. The ring of blackened wisps that surround you inch closer. Their hands are outstretched, their mutilated mouths open and calling for your name, your blood. You glance over at Nia beside her, your breath catching in your throat as she leans back in her wooden seat and narrows her gaze at you in a challenge.

You understand suddenly. Indra is the last of your family. She is last person that saw you before she'd become Heda, before when you had a name, when you were a girl who liked flowers and Costia and peace and loved so purely and strongly. The Ice Queen's eyes are glowering and intent with rage, and you're not sure you've ever seen someone so vile in your entire life. You look back to your general, to the woman who's nephew you'd just slain only moments ago, but you can't find strength this time to raise your weapon. Weakness has broken through the walls and taken your heart.

"Indra," you call out as her eyes angrily blaze into you. " _Biyo moba,_ Indra _, beja-_ "

" _Shof op_ ," she snarls viciously, her voice cracking. "Do not beg for forgiveness, girl. You killed him. Both of them." 

"I had to," you breathe out as she grips her sword. It's the same blade you'd clutched when protecting Echo. Then, it hits you.

You let weakness win, and now you must pay the price.

Your eyes flit to Clarke's ghost again, of how she is standing with a hand cupped over her mouth and a confused, pained glance in her eyes. Tears are building in her azure depths, something that makes those eyes glisten with even more beauty than you could've possibly imagined. You turn back to Indra as the chanting of the crowd grows louder in your ears. There are so many shadows, so many ghosts, and you choke because they're taking up all the air and leaving you to die. You can't find the power to wield your weapon, not anymore. Indra shakes her head, her lips curling again.

"I die for you," she tells you in a hiss, "do not waste this, Heda. Do not be weak."

"But I am," you whisper out of the earshot of the Queen. "I am _so_ weak."

These words are for Indra alone, for the mentor you are about to lose. Your most trusted guardian. Your friend and your sister with which you have both fought a hundred battles together. She is the one who'd carried you on your back when  _pauna_  ripped you open the first time you hunted her. She is the one that kept you alive instead of her own son, because she knew the value of your life outweighed his. She'd let him go into the Mountain and become a Reaper because you were not allowed to. You were needed more. Even after his death, she stayed loyal to you because even she knew, despite the pain, it was your only choice. She had given you everything, from shelter and wisdom, to love and comfort in the darkest of times.

"I can't do this," you plead to her as Atohl steps into the ring, a glowering smirk on his face. "Indra, I-"

"No," Indra growls as she steps forward, her blade raised. "You will honour my sacrifice. My son's sacrifice. Lukas' sacrifice."

"Do you wish to back out, Heda?" Atohl asks, a smug tone dripping into his voice, "if you do, let me know. My sword hungers for your head."

You almost want to give in, to tell him yes, but the look in Indra's eyes are warning. She shakes her head at you, and in the depths of that hardened gaze, you can see the faintest flicker of fear. But it's not the fear of her death. You know that it's the fear of _your_ death, of your mind slowly slipping away into nothingness until you can't see anything but the shadows that plague you. The funny thing is, you're already there. You're at the part that she fears you most. She was there when Costia died and joined your father's ghost. She guarded from the front of the tent as Anya and Gustus wrapped themselves around you. She was the one who sent Lincoln to you so he may ward the demons off for a moment, to allow you the peace to grieve.

She was heartless once, but you know that inside her heart now, there's a spot for you that aches. She wants your happiness and safety, even if it's not what the others want. Your culture demands neutered emotions, but you know that she still pains over her lost son. You know that she sees Octavia as a daughter that she'd never birthed, Lincoln a son she never had to lose, and you, a sister in arms. She sees you as an equal, not a leader or a subordinate. She was always there to remind you of your place, but failed to abandon you. She should've left - ran away from this so she may live.

"No," you whisper defeatedly to Atohl. "I will fight."

You try to ignore how Indra's lips curl up into a small, sadly proud smile. 

You close your eyes and back away to your starting position. The memories of your general are overwhelming and loud. You put the mental armour back over your heat, but you can't ignore how cracked and broken it's become. It barely covers the darkest, most intimate parts of you. Now, it just leaves gaping and vulnerable holes. Partly, you blame Clarke. You'd been ruthless for four years until the Sky Princess walked through your tent. You'd opened yourself to her, refused to listen to anyone else but her, and in the end, let your love for her outweigh the need to stay strong and true.

"Ready?" Atohl asks, and the crowd cheers. They throw their weapons and howl like the panthers in the forest. You feel a cold shiver run down your spine as you open your eyes, only to stare straight into the woman that you'd come to trust more than anyone else in your command. She nods at you, silently telling you that this is a price she is willing to pay for you to allow yourself a chance to rebuild the peace. After all, what matters is not you, but the people. The people that savagely demand your death. The people that think you're a hero. The people that follow you with no hesitation. They don't see you as anything but the Commander. For them, you are immortal, everlasting, God-like. They revere and fear you at the same time.

When the rain starts to pour down, you realize that this is what you are. A vessel, not a girl.

You are _Heda_.

As soon as the horn blows, you launch forwards. You are screaming before you know it, lifting your sword as the shadows watch with hungry eyes. Their whispering turns into harsh shouting, driving the other Grounders' shouts into a muffled silence. You can hear each and every word they'd ever uttered to you before they'd been killed at your hand. You blink back the tears as Indra lets out her own battle cry and steers into your charge, intercepting your blade. You swivel and turn as she kicks you away with a strong boot to your side. The harsh clang of your swords jeers on the crowd, riling them up even more as you both return to the original starting positions. You swivel around each other, calculating the next move you're about to make.

"Come on, girl. I've trained you better than this," Indra scoffs at you, reminding you of the days in which you'd slide around in the mud, trying and failing to battle with the older warrior. Her feet are quick and her legs strong, as they'd always been. You wipe the corner of your mouth as she draws closer, her blade creeping closer up her chest in preparation for another attack. You steel yourself, the ground beneath you growing slippery.

"Fight me!" Indra calls out as she slices her blade forward. You parry it away as she holds back her tears. Her movements are a bit more displaced, but she holds herself together to deliver a blow to your shin. You stagger backwards, barely making the roll as her blade jabs forward, intent on your chest.

You let out a ferocious growl as you rocket off your feet and charge into her side with a shoulder thrust. You catch her ribs and send the both of you to the ground with your tackle. Indra lets go of the sword that has clattered out of her reach and instead smashes it into the side of your face. You let out a hiss as she breaks your nose, allowing more blood to drip down your face. She hits you again, and then again, and then one more time until you're thrown off her and sent flying back into the wet dirt. Some of the mud clings to your clothes as you cough, spitting the grime and blood from your mouth. You attempt to stagger to your feet, but before you can rise, Indra kicks you down with a harsh boot to your back.

"Get up!" She screams at you as you roll away from another slicing blade. Your vision is spotting now from the blood loss, the pelting rain doing nothing but aggravating your already stained vision. She kicks your face again, sending you back, face-down into the mud. You curl your fists into the dirt before turning and flinging it at her face, temporarily blinding her as you are allowed the time to get away. You stumble back to your sword and pick it up, your bones aching from the cold wind and pouring rain. You sway a little, your balance off-centre from the multiple wounds to your body.

"Good," Indra says as though this were another training sessions, "almost better than a _goufa_."

You are a _goufa_ though. A child, unsure if you're going to even see the summer of adulthood. You know death like it's your best friend, your sword like it is your _houmon_. You have no friends, no family, nothing but pain and empty glances. You never asked for this. You never asked to face your family in a ring or be sent the head of the love of your life. You didn't ask for a life steeped in war and blood. You didn't ask for anything this heart-wrenchingly sad. You are a child, as much as the world disagrees, and you know that you have little experience compared to Indra or Anya or Gustus.

Yet you were the one chosen, not them.

"Come on," Nia snarls from where she sits, waving her hand impatiently. "Do something, _branwada_."

You refuse to move or listen to her. All you can see is Indra glaring at you to do something, to attack, but you are frozen to your ground. Your sword wavers in your hand, the kohl on your face beginning to smudge with the tears that are steadily beginning to accumulate in your eyes. Your vision is so blurry, too blurry. Your breaths are too quick and your body too frail. The Queen lets out another annoyed huff when you don't respond again. She growls low in her throat before making a gesture towards one of her warriors. Indra's eyes widen and she goes to warn you, but you're too slow. You barely have the time to react before a sharp pain slices into your back and you're forced forward, onto your knees with a harsh gasp.

"Hesitate again and the next one goes through her head," Nia threatens as you try to breathe through the arrow lodged in your back. Its tip presses against your lung precariously, the feathered edge flickering in the winds. The rain intensifies now, slicing at your face with the cold, incessant drops.

"Get up!" Indra says as she rushes over to you, smacking your temple with the hilt of your blade. You fall over to your side, heaving as your wounds start to present themselves. Indra is crying now, kicking, punching, slicing - doing whatever she can to make you move. Before you know it, you're flat on your stomach, your blood pooling out from under you in a clean puddle. It mixes with the rain water and mud, but you can't get up.

You're broken, once again.

" _Ge smak daun, gyon op nodotaim!_ " You hear her tell you. She repeats again, her voice cracking as she sees you unresponsive. You can see Nia out of the corner of your eye, grinning as she goes to raise her hand to fire another arrow, but you will not let the Queen take another person you love.

With a harsh scream of pain to bolster your stamina, you swing your leg out and catch Indra in a broad kick. She tumbles back and you rise, your hair matted to your face as you stagger over towards her. A few gasps come from the crowd, but Indra only gazes at you with pride. She rises to her feet and parries the jab you send her, her footwork matching yours as you try again to hack at her face. There's a new drive in her eyes, one that breaks your heart. She's trying to keep herself steady so that you can deliver the final blow, but if she takes it easy, she will die for nothing.

She catches your sword within her own quickly as you go to drive another stab at her face. She twists her blade and rams her shoulder into your chest, crying out when you are shoved backwards into the mud. You get back up immediately this time, not willing to risk her life at the hands of the Queen. You charge forward again but she catches your arm in hers. With a solid heave, she throws you over your shoulder, only for your back to land harshly in the mud. You can't help the high-pitched wail you let out when the arrow in your back snaps into two. You writhe on the ground, sobbing in frustration.

" _Ge smak daun, gyon op nodotaim!_ " Indra pleads again, her sword starting to tremble in her hands. " _Beja, gada, gyon op_!"

You grit your teeth and let a single tear mesh with the rain on your face before you twist, reaching for your sword with your cut up and bleeding hand. You stagger back to your feet. Indra, being one of two warriors to have ever conquered you in battle, is unable to hide from showing mercy. Nia has seen you spar. You both know that of all your challengers, she is the only one that can truly kill you. But what stabs you in the gut is not her sword when she rushes forward again, but the realization that she will not, _cannot_ , kill you. No matter how hard this fight will be, she cannot win. Because despite the past and the loss and the buried grief, you are  _Heda_  and she is not. You are needed more than she ever will be.

"Make it count," Indra growls as she slices a line in your leg, " _sis_ , make our fight worth this blood."

 

**Lincoln**

 

"This is not fair," you murmur as you watch them scrapping on the muddy floor. "This is not fair."

Indra was like a mother to you, one that gave you nurturing since you'd been a boy. You have seen so many battles by her side, and by Lexa's side. The two of them were like wolves stalking their prey. Where Anya was tactful and agile, Indra was brute force and strength. Her skills with her blade could only rival Lexa an no one else. It was only the woman down there, fighting against your sister, that truly gave Lexa a run for her money.

You grimace as Lexa smashes the hilt of her blade against Indra's teeth, causing the older woman to spit out what looks to be a tooth. The rain is not letting up now, and you're uncertain as to how they've managed to stay on their feet with how muddy the grounds have become. Their footings aren't well-placed, but you see them make up for it with proactive leaps and bounds. They seek out whatever drier patches remain and stick to them.

"She was the best mentor," Octavia whispers as she takes your hand. A tear streaks down your face. You hate how she's already referring to Indra in the past tense, like the woman down there, fighting to save your Commander's life is already dead. You know that she will be in a matter of moments, but it's still not enough to let the ache in your stomach disappear. You curl your hand around your torso as you watch Lexa get knocked down again.

"I'm sorry, Lincoln," she whimpers as tears start to trek down her face. She curls into your side and holds you closely as you're both forced to watch Indra get shoved into the dirt by Lexa. Their swords have been abandoned, and now it's just become a ruthless fist-fight. Bellamy tenses from beside you as blood spatters out from Indra's torn lips with each powerful punch. Indra's hand sneaks up and grabs at Lexa's throat, and before you know it, she's thrusting upwards and slamming Lexa into the mud. Her knee lodges into her stomach, no doubt aggravating the arrow on the other end.

"Sorry won't stop this," you tell her as you watch Lexa roll the other woman off. "Sorry won't wake me up from this _nightmare_."

 

**Clarke**

 

The pain you feel is the same as when you'd pulled the lever on the Mountain.  

They're fighting, but you can see that Lexa is holding back tears. As they both get back to their feet and scramble for their swords, you can make out the countless wounds they bear. The rain washes away some of the blood, but the cuts and deep bruises are still there, visible to everyone. Lexa's jabs are misplaced and sloppy. Indra cuts her with aching screams as they fight like two dogs over a scrap of food. You can feel the slice in your gut when Indra's blade makes contact with Lexa's exposed back. Her sword catches in the faint remnants of the arrow, pulling a blood-curdling scream from Lexa's lips. Blood pools down her legs and she staggers forwards when Indra kicks the backs of her knees, but does not falter. The crowd is screaming for her blood, for her head, for death, but you cannot join them. Not when Lexa is fighting to keep them both alive. Indra's cheeks are damp and you cry for her. This is a woman that held her emotions at bay, that did not cry when her son was murdered, and here she is. Indra is sobbing before you.

A once great and powerful warrior feared by all is _c_ _rying_.

Finally, Lexa twists and parries a blow. She manages to use her forearm to knock Indra's approaching sword and twists quickly on her heel. Her blade slices right through the back of Indra's frame, the crimson-stained metal protruding from the other end. You hear them both cry out as Indra falls, a gurgling sound coming from her lips. Her eyes widen and blood spills from her mouth, her blade dropping with a harsh clatter to the mud. Lexa's hand is shaking harder now as she clutches Indra's shivering body in her arms. You stare at the Ice Queen and want to strangle her for breaking someone that had once been so pure. Lexa isn't even ruthless in this moment. You can see the sheer agony in her green eyes, the anger flaring to life as she digs the blade deeper, twisting it so that it slices at Indra's heart. You watch with a heavy heart as the Commander drops to the ground besides her general. 

" _Yu gonplei ste odon_ ," you hear Lexa choke out as she pulls her blade from her back. "I'm sorry,  _sis_. I'm… I… _biyo moba_ , I'm so _sorry_."

You watch as she shuts her eyes to ward off tears. The crowd cheers at the general's defeat and the show of their beloved Commander's strength. Yet, Lexa remains kneeling at Indra's side, her hand placed over the incision she'd made with her sword. You watch as she breathes deeply, in and out, trying to compose herself. Nia looks about ready to fire another arrow when Lexa stands once more, ire in her stare as she looks to the Queen's gloating face.

"I almost thought she had you for a second there, Heda!" Nia laughs as their eyes meet. "I didn't think you had it in you, honestly."

Without snapping back, Lexa staggers forwards, holding the blade closer to her side as she walks away from Indra's limp frame with her head bowed in respect. The Queen's voice makes you sick, but what wakes the true illness in you is the way Lexa shudders and heaves. Her stoic facade is faltering with the ghosts that line up to drift into her skin, to lull her into the grave. They are tempting her, trying to coax her into a better world, a world in which is not meant to be a receptacle of a spirit, but instead a girl. You think back to what Luna had said earlier, and you wonder if maybe ghosts belong where blood is not. You know that there are still two more, but you don't know of anyone else that could possibly wound the broken Commander any further. Nia waves at the guards, her wicked grin wider than ever before. You can't help the shiver that shirks you.

"Nearly done," Nia observes as she nods her head to the new opponent. "You have two more, Heda. Get to it."

Lexa turns her head, following her gaze, and then she gasps in shock.

A frail older woman steps out and you watch as Lexa's grip on her sword nearly drops. Her skin is pasty and weak, clearly not a warrior by any means. You've never seen this woman before in your life, but the heartbreaking glance in those almost identical green eyes assures you that this woman is no stranger to Lexa. You can make out the resemblances in the thick forest brown hair, slender wrists, and strong jawline. You want yourself to be wrong, for this woman to not be who you think her to be, but a stranger instead. In someways, when Lexa stares at her, she seems to be exactly that.

When the woman approaches with her flimsy sword, her eyes mournful and grey, the Commander takes a step backwards in shock. She shakes her head in disbelief, her gaze growing more distant and grip on her sword loosening. She looks horrified to see this woman, but it's not of sadness, but _anger_. The woman cries out something in broken English, before she repeats the word again in _Trigedasleng_. It's soft, barely audible in the crowd, but you hear it. You hear the word, and with every letter, you can feel Lexa's insides twisting with confusion and loss.

You can feel her grief now, overbearingly cold and unforgiving. 

" _Yongon_ ," the woman breathes out, eyes misting with tears. " _Aleksandria, ai yongon._ " Lexa shivers at the name but shakes her head.

"No," she seethes as she holds her trembling sword out in front of her, "I am no child of yours. Not anymore."

 

**Lexa**

 

You hesitate to bring forward your weapon, despite your answer to her call. Instead of roaring, the crowd watches you with glinting eyes as the woman steps forward. You don't remember her name, but you know her face. You will always know that face. You have it engrained in your mind as she'd left you and in that damned forest after the death of your father. She'd abandoned you for _pauna_ , for death. There is no love in your heart for her. And yet, her smile is soft, too soft and you know that it is _honest_ as it breaks your already shattered heart into tinier fragments. Her hand reaches up and frames your face before she leans in. You are too weak to brush aside her touch. You try to remind yourself that this woman abandoned you, left you alone.

She does not deserve your mercy.

(Why does her touch feel so _good_?)

"You have grown so tall," she tells you in a hoarse whisper, tears streaking down her cheeks. "Your father would be proud,  _ai yongon._ "

"Don't," you hiss through pained breaths. Still, your body refuses to move. "Stop this. Do not call me that. I am not yours."

"You are the greatest Heda to walk these lands," the woman chokes on her breath as she can see the glint of the metal. She ignores the teary glare you send her way and instead smiles harder, her lips trembling with the effort. " _Mebi oso na hit choda op nodotaim, yongon_. In a world not torn apart by war, in which your spirit is free. In which I can love you as my own. I am proud of you, my child. No matter where I had to go in order for you to survive, I am so proud of you. There is courage in your heart, Aleksandria. You are the beacon of hope we need.  _Ai yongon, ste yuj._ " You grit your teeth and close your eyes. The woman pats your cheek once more and pulls you in so she may kiss the side of your temple where the kohl has barely stuck on. Her lips are soft, familiar, but distant and wrought with too many foul memories. The rain that pelts down reminds you of the storm that had hit the night she left you alone in the cold. You can almost see the flames of your burning village in her eyes. You refuse to move and stay quiet instead.

You will not speak to her.

(Please, just say something.)

" _Ai hod yu in,_ " she whispers as she moves her stomach to your blade. "Forgive me, my child. Please, Aleksandria, _beja, biyo moba. Ai hod-_ "

Before she can repeat the declaration of love again, you finish her with a soft breath and slow jab of your blade.

(You won't admit it, but she will always be forgiven, even in death.)

The woman's eyes remain open and glazed, her hand still upon the your cheek as she slumps against your bloodied front, sliding to the ground. You're stone-cold gaze does not waver as you let her body's blood rest against yours for a moment. The symbolism of the only true family you have left washes away with the pelting rain, draining away the remnants of your birth mother's lifeblood. You grit your teeth as you pull the blade out and finally let go. It wrenches free with a soft clang. You stand still, staring at the wall behind her with a blank expression, your jaw tight and aching from the need to represses your angered grief. At last, you take a hand and wipe it from your bare stomach, staring at her blood with disgust on your palms.

You feel your father's hand on your shoulder and then your front. Before you know it, he's beside her body, leaned over it and sobbing. You feel empty inside as her spirit frees itself to join with his. The two of them turn and look at you, their gazes hollow and lifeless. You barely are able to stagger backwards as they glare at you, looking at you like you're a monster and not their daughter. Once, you were someone's daughter.

You were _someone_.

Now, you're no one.

 _Ai hod yu in_ , her voice repeats, soft and gentle as she smiles painlessly at you, _otaim, ai yongon._

Even with the betrayal, her departure, she was still part of you. The blood on your hands is your own, _truly_ your own this time. You tighten your jaw and glare over at Nia. The Queen does not react to your cold, ruthless stare, but instead she rises and motions to the guards. There's one more person, and all you think about is the last person that you ever loved. You know, just in the way the Queen is smiling - like she'd saved the best for last - who it is. Your heart clenches in your throat in preparation.

"Bring out the last one," the Ice Queen calls out with no emotion to her voice. "After this, it is just you and I, Heda. Enjoy your last minutes."

You go to snarl at her when you feel the limp hand of the woman beneath you. Frowning, you glance down at the body that has not yet been removed. Unlike the others, your birth mother remains slumped on the ground, her empty green eyes staring up at you blankly. You go to question Nia when footsteps interrupt. They are like a clock, and you are reminded of your time in Costia's room, when she'd showed you the time machine from long ago. She'd told you about the legend of the people before the war keeping time with those clocks, as if time could be counted and the set of the sun could be controlled. You remember how she'd kissed you that night, so softly and purely, whispering about how your love knows, and will always know, no time.

"Leksa," Luna calls to you, her voice tight. You hate how you knew. You hate that it's her. You freeze, unable to look in her direction.

 _No_ , you beg in your mind as you look back up at Nia. She smirks at you darkly before taking a seat. Clarke looks horrified and angry, but you do not have the energy to waste time staring at her ghost. You are about to enter her realm in a few moments. Your fingers grow clammy and your head spins. When that same soft, motherly voice whispers out your name again. You clench your jaw, but you can't hold off the tears this time. You are thankful for the rain as you let a few slide down your cheek and off your chin. Your tunic flutters in the bellowing wind, the cold water freezing to your skin.

"Leksa," Luna whispers once more, "you have to do this, _hodnes_."

For the first time, your sword drops.

"Nia wants to win," Luna says as she inches closer towards you, but your back remains to her. You know that the minute you turn, your resolve will be broken and crumpled, just as the Queen wanted. You can feel a gentle, lithe hand skirt up the torn fabric of your shirt until she squeezes your shoulder.

"She wants to break you, Leksa," she whispers, her voice closer than before, "but you are strong. You are  _Heda_. You are the real leader of our people." You don't move still. Instead, you nod your head up to Clarke again. With great pain, you watch as those tears steadily start to accumulate in the vibrant ghost's eyes. You know that the woman beneath your feet had been hard enough to kill for you, but here, standing behind you, is your  _real_ mother. The mother that had raised the love of her life and your own soul. She is who made you today. She is the one who'd nurtured you, stitched you together when you bled, and gave your blessing for love. She is your real mother, who's hands crafted you into the person you've become today. 

And now, you both know, your real mother must die, too.

"Stand strong, Heda," Luna tells you as she picks up your sword and places the hilt it into the palm of your shaking hand. She presses her front closer to your back, her voice taking on a sharper tremor when she makes contact with the multitude of gashes and tears in your skin. You can feel her eyes ghosting over the arrow buried in the square of your shoulder blades. She leans her head down and presses a barely-there kiss to your neck.

"Costia would not want to see you falter under her blade. Do not let her sacrifice go in vain, _yongon_. You are bigger than her. You are smarter, wiser, calmer. You're the wolf a sheep like her fears. You are powerful, Heda. That is why the twelve clans follow you. That is why Costia followed you. Why I follow you, why _all of them_ follow you. They will always follow you," Luna urges strongly, though her voice cracks with each cry birthed from her lips. You shake your head, your hand fighting the urge to pull back as Luna's cheeks dampen with more tears and rain. She reaches for your other forearm, lightly tugging on the crease of your elbow so she can finally move you around to face her direction.

You glance down at your biological mother before glancing over the Clarke's ghost sitting next to the grinning Queen. You almost want to ask her if this is what she wanted, if this is enough for vengeance. You don't cry as she stares at you, heartbroken. You are sure that she can hear the questions you ask in her mind, because she was always good at reading your eyes. You wonder if she can see them, or if she can feel your pain. A part of you wants to walk up to her and hand her your blade so she may end it herself, just like you know she must've wanted after you abandoned her at the Mountain.

"Costia loves you, Leksa," Luna whispers she reaches for your face. Her hand tilts your chin and you get your first look at her since your lover had been taken from you. She will always remind you of home, of fireplaces and warmth, love and good things - Costia. Your lips tremble when she forces a sad smile. She strokes the prominent bone of your cheek, the tears dripping from her eyes as the rain continues to pour down on the both of you.

"Costia is still with you, but she does not serve to haunt you, _ai yongon_ ," she whispers gently, holding your head closer and tighter to her than before. You can see the raw fear in her eyes, and like Indra, it is not of her death. Your jaw muscles tense as you see her searching for your soul, for the child she'd raised long ago. The faint cry that leaves her lips is heartbreaking because you know just as much as she does that the girl she seeks doesn't exist, not anymore. That girl is trapped inside you somewhere, buried under bodies and murder, deception and lies, betrayal and loss.

"Then what is she meant to do?" You ask quietly, not so the Queen can hear. She doesn't look pleased that you are standing so close, but she doesn't make an effort to make your mother fight. You know why and it sickens you. Luna smiles, holding your bloodied cheek tighter to her trembling hand. She parts her mouth, but nothing leaves her lips but a gentle whimper. She takes a moment to compose herself before nodding, a bit firmer this time.

"She serves to protect you," your mother whispers as she trails her other hand to the skin above your heart. "To remind you of the good in this world." 

"There is no good left," you say bitterly, your teeth gritting as rage takes over. "I have killed all those who once love me. I am weak." 

"Not all," Luna murmurs as she nods to Clarke's ghost. Her hands are still on your face as she makes you turn to face her. Clarke is standing, her eyes wide with fear and shock. You shudder at the sight of her, but Luna's forefinger traces your tensing jaw soothingly. You feel your heart pick up its pace.

"She is not dead. That is why you can see her in the darkness. She needs you more than you know, Leksa _ai hodness_ , and you need her too," Luna whispers as she turns back so she may peck your cheek. She lets her lips linger when she murmurs, "you are not weak. Love is strength, and you are strong, Leksa. Your love for your people, for Costia, for Clarke, it is stronger than any blade or arrow. Remember that, _ai yongon_." She smoothes your trembling shoulder to and turns you back to face her. This time, she uses both her hands to cup your face, her eyes staring so warmly into your own.

"You are strong," she repeats as she leans up to peck your forehead, "so strong,  _ai yongon_.  _Ai hod yu in. Wich in ai, en em sentaim._ "

 

**Clarke**

 

When Luna steps down from kissing Lexa's crown, her eyes catch yours over the near-broken Commander's shoulder. 

 _Please_ , she tells you,  _don't let her drown. Not now. Not yet._

You nod faintly, much to the chagrinned grunt of Nia beside you. The woman nods gratefully, tears streaking down her face faster and harder now as she whispers something more to Lexa. Her lips are moving quicker, the words coming out choppier. Her voice is cracking under the storm, under Lexa's blade, and under the notion that even though she thought her daughter's end would be better than her living, she must make the harder choice. Lexa's arms are shaking, the cold rain causing goosebumps to raise all along her scarred flesh. The blood has formed a puddle around them both now.

" _Ste yuj, ste ridiyo_ , Leksa," Luna tells her, one of her hands curling in the mess of curls behind her neck. She kisses Lexa's cheek and neck once more, her breathing starting to become erratic. You can see in the faint glow of a strike of lightening, Lexa's blade help up against her front, right at her heart. Once more, Luna parts her mouth to speak, her eyes glazing as she cries into Lexa's shoulder. "Let go, Leksa. You can do this. You are brave, my girl."

The Commander is still for a few more moments, and then her shoulders tense.

Softly, Luna reaches out and curls her hand around the back of Lexa's braids again, shushing her as she holds the sword steady for the last blow. She hums a tune that you don't recognize, but it causes Lexa to slump against her. She closes her eyes and you can only assume that she is dreaming of her daughter, or Lexa's peace, or perhaps nothing at all. You watch as she sways to the faint tune, her lips still quivering and frame still small. Lexa doesn't move until the song is done and all is silent. Her head is tucked into the crook of the older woman's neck, her breathing slow and pained. Her back quivers and trembles and you step forward with a wobble to your knees. Before you can rush to her side, you feel the spear of Nia's guards in your back.

" _Teik op frag em op_ ," the Queen tells you in a soft hiss. "It is her duty should she wish to challenge me."

"You're a monster," you spit back at her as you hear Luna gasp in the background. "This is not a fight, this is… this is…"

"This is the price of peace," Nia answers for you, clear and cut. "Blood must have blood."

You're really beginning to hate that phrase.

When you turn to look back at Lexa, you see that the blade is halfway through Luna's heart. You gasp in shock, for you hadn't heard it slice through. Luna's eyes are wild and wide, but Lexa holds onto her, whispering soothing nothings of Costia waiting, of love and wheat fields and songs and beautiful things - things not steeped in blood or murder, in which grief and sorrow are nothing but a distant memory. She whispers into Luna's ear, " _ai hod yu in_ ". The words are said with such gentle care, like they're delicate fragments of glass. They are words that you know were once locked away, words that she refused to attune a meaning towards, but she is saying them now. You can't hold back your tears as Lexa's voice cracks on the phrase. You watch as she follows Luna's slack body to the ground, laying her to the bloody floor with the most attention you've ever seen Lexa give to anyone. 

" _Osir gonplei nou ste odon nowe, nomon_ ," Lexa whispers into her ear as she cradles Luna's body closer to her chest. " _Ai hod yu in._ I will kill them all. For you. For Costia. Indra. Anya. Gustus. For… _Clarke_." Her eyes close on the last word. When your name comes from her lips, it is not out of anger. There is so much pain in her voice but you can hear it, you can hear the _love_ she has for you and you know that she is not heartless. Your heart shatters as she clutches Luna's body and looks up at you. Her hands weave around the older woman's back and secure her to her chest, her fingers gripping her tight.

" _Ai hod yu in, nomon_ ," Lexa whispers one final time before she reaches up to close Luna's eyes. "Find peace in eternity with Costia now."

The stadium is silent as Lexa rests a few moments, uttering a few final prayers to the dead woman. And then, with a low growl, she pulls her blade from her adopted mother's heart and rises. Your breath hitches when you see the rage burn brightly in those green gems. This is a side of Lexa you've never seen. You've seen the Commander mad, but this is different. Her eyes bleed with vengeance, with pain, grief, and somewhere in there, is her weakness. In those shimmering green depths, there is love. For Costia. Luna. Indra. Maybe even some for you, but you don't wish to be selfish in your assumption. This is not the time to be thinking of such foolish things as she charges towards the Queen. Nia shows no fear as she rises, reaching for her sword.

"Finally," the Queen growls, her blade glinting as she steps onto the ring. "I will finish you myself, _joka_."

The Grounders roar as Nia unclips her cape and enters the muddied grounds. She brandishes her sword with a beaming grin, twirling it around tauntingly as Lexa circles her. They both look like two predators, one trying to turn the other into its prey. Lexa's eyes almost look feral, and you can't help the shiver that tingles down your spine as she bears her teeth in a ferocious, unforgiving and purely vile snarl. Nia jerks her head up challengingly, staring down at the Commander with a desire so strong it makes you wonder just how long she'd been waiting for this moment, to claim what's hers.

"Not if I finish you first," Lexa growls back, her voice growing more sure with each word that leaves her lips. " _Yu sou kom kwel in, splita._ "

Nia lets out an angered snarl with Lexa's challenge, raising her sword into a more threatening position. Lexa's chest is heaving with fury as she lunges forward, lifting her own sword (now tainted in the blood of those that have out-lived her, those who'd _loved_ her) and bringing it down upon Nia's chest. The Queen dodges and parries, plunging her own blade into Lexa's side. The seasoned Commander leaps in the nick of time, the sword barely nicking her side as she recovers. Her strength, given by those lives she'd taken, fuels her to be quick. You stand and watch in awe as she takes all that she's lost and turns it into fuel for her final battle. Her movements are precise and calculated and you want to grin because this, this woman fighting and ducking, slicing and parrying, _this_ is the Commander that the people would die for. This is Heda Leksa. You feel almost privileged to be watching her in combat.

The Queen did not break her. She only made her stronger.

The Grounders have stopped cheering for the Queen now as they see Lexa dominating the battlefield. She doesn't allow a single scratch from the Queen for the first few minutes. She's graceful like a cat, all agile and precise. She fights like she is dancing, not cutting open wounds on the woman that'd stolen everything from her. You hear a few of the Grounder's cheering her on now, as if Lexa's skills and strength serve as a reminder as to why she was elected by the spirits to lead. You can see their chants donning the Commander with more power, so you join with them, hollering for Lexa's success.

"They all will die," Nia spits into Lexa's face as the Commander's blade slices a cut in her cheek. "You will kill them all, you fool!"

"Your ways are barbaric," Lexa snarls back, kicking at Nia's leg with a roundhouse, sending her to the floor. " _You_ have already killed them."

Nia roars with displeasure, sweeping her sword out to try and catch her opponent's legs. Lexa's spinning and jumping, her sword coming down to cut open a wide gash on the Queen's leg while she's on her knees. Nia screams and Lexa growls in success with her blow. She lunges again, this time burrowing her sword into her shoulder, causing Nia to slam to the ground on her back. The guards become uneasy around you as you watch Lexa stab again, this time in her stomach. Blood spurts out from the opening, and you can't help but be proud of the Commander's true prowess. The Queen is on her knees again, but she does not back down. Lexa steps back, brandishing her sword in preparation for the final blow.

Then, something in Nia's gaze flickers, and you watch in horror as Lexa makes a mistake.

While she'd be preparing to bring the sword down on Nia's head, the Queen reacts quickly by leaning back and kicking her leg out, her boot smashing into a bite wound on Lexa's thigh with a harsh thud. The motion sends Lexa tripping to the floor with a loud smash. Heda's sword clatters out of her hand and Nia takes this to her advantage. She rises quickly, like she's not bleeding from a puncture wound and several gashes. Lexa is still winded and dazed on the ground, unaware of Nia's presence. Your heart rises up to block your throat of the necessary air at the sight of Nia grinning savagely. You go to scream in warning as Lexa goes to frantically reach for her blade, but it is too late. Nia is up and looming over Heda, her blade raised.

With one sharp thrust, the air is sucked from your lungs.

 

**Octavia**

 

"No!" You scream as you stand, watching as the the top quarter of Nia's blade sinks into Lexa's chest. "No, no!"

You feel Lincoln pulling you back, his strong hands gripping your arms as you cry out in anguish when you watch Lexa's hands grip at the blade, slicing her hands in the process. Her legs kick out as she wrestles with Nia's sword, trying to prevent it from sinking deeper into her skin. Lincoln is shivering behind you, his arms turning to jelly as you both have to bear witness to what could be the end of Lexa's life right before your eyes.

"She can't die," you cry against Lincoln's chest, "she… she can't die."

"She betrayed you." Echo's voice is low, but not cold like it'd been before. "This is her penance."

Lexa's eyes are wider and the Grounders are cheering for their Queen louder than before, their hands raises and boots stomping. The rain causes her grip to slip and another inch to penetrate her skin. The younger woman grits her teeth, refusing to let a noise leave her lips. You twist out of Lincoln's grip and reach for your sword, pulling it into your hands. You glance to your stricken brother, who's gaze is locked on the strife beneath you.

"We have to help her," you tell them as tears work their way down your cheeks. "She saved us once. Please… we have to help."

"The Queen will kill you," Echo snaps as she rises, pulling her own blade from her sheath. "I for one have had enough of you, _joka_. The time of the Ice Nation has risen. I have no use for you anymore, you fake piece of shit. You are just as weak as the Commander who revoked you. You _will_ die." 

Before she can plunge the blade in your side, Bellamy's arm pulls at her neck and whirls her around, slamming her into the wall and knocking her out. You gasp, glancing up at your brother as he stares down at the unconscious Grounder. Something unknown flickers in his dark eyes, but he shakes it away as the roaring of the loyal _Azgeda_ Grounders breaks his stare. It's not until you hear a scream from the ring that he tears his gaze away from Echo and looks to you. He pulls his gun from his hand and nods, glancing beside to Lincoln. Your boyfriend rises and grabs at his own weapons.

"I still don't like her," your brother says sternly, "but we need her alive. Let's go get her."

  

**Lexa**

 

"Give up, Heda," Nia growls as she tries pushing more of her weight into your grip on the sword. Your hands are gushing blood, cut so deep that the metal is nicking your bones now. You bunch your muscles and remain strong, shoving upwards to try and pull out the sword from your chest. At this angle, with her boot on your stomach and arms locked, you can't do much in the terms of moving her away. You can only fight her slick blade.

"Never," you spit a wad of blood at her, "no one else dies because of you today. I refuse to let you wage war any longer."

"Klark would ally with me, She is the true _Wanheda_ after all. She understands our ways better than you ever did, _goufa_. She would stand true with me," Nia glowers at you, shoving harder. The mention of her name loosens your grip by a slight amount, causing the blade to dig deeper in your skin and more flesh to slide off your hands. You hiss in pain, more blood tinging your lips. The Grounders are getting irritated, shouting and hooting for someone to end it already. You writhe under the Queen's boot, trying to dislodge yourself from her shackled grip.

"Clarke believes in more than survival," you tell her as you feel your breathing begin to quicken, "she is stronger than you. Than _me_."

"Then she will die," the Queen hisses with a grin, "I will send you her head, too."

At that, you break.

With a burst of strength, you manage to surge upwards, curling your leg in before kicking at her other shin to throw her off. Her blade rattles to the ground as you pounce atop her, punching her straight across her pristinely white face. The rain comes down around you, causing your tattered knuckles to slide against her skin. You are relentless in your force. One of your hands grips the skin of her shoulder and collar while the other punches. Nia howls as you break her nose, causing blood to dribble down her chin and onto her neck. She knees you in the side where your lashes are the deepest, causing you to roll off with an agonized grunt. Her hands pull at your hair and her leg stomps on your back. She pulls, like she is trying to detach your head from your body. The pain is grating, like salt to your wounds as you feel the deep cuts on your back open up with the force. Her boot is right on top of the arrow, only serving to shove it further into your skin. You use a good chunk of your strength to swat an arm out and grab her wrist before throwing her to the ground. You roll atop her again, struggling to keep her pinned to the ground. She's kicking your near-broken leg, but you do not waver.

"You will not kill anyone today," you hiss into her face, watching as more of your blood drips down onto her. "You will pay for Costia."

"That," Nia chokes out with a sly grin, "is where you are wrong, Heda. No one has ever faced the trials twice and lived. Not even you."

Before you can react, her hand reaches up and twists the arrow in your left shoulder, wrenching it until you have no choice but to roll off her with a howling scream. The blinding pain nearly knocks you out as you convulse on the floor, choking on your own blood and saliva. She clambers off you quickly, but in the time you take to regroup and collect yourself, Nia has retrieved her sword. You try to find the strength to get up, but your breaths are too slow, your limbs too heavy. You can hear Clarke screaming from the sides, her voice _outside_ your head for once. You glance over to see that she is standing, the guards having wrapped their arms around her fighting body. She's screaming your name with tears in her eyes. 

And that is when you know that she is _not_ a ghost.

"Send regards to Costia from me," Nia says coldly, as you turn your head in a slow swivel. "I'll be sure to take care of Klark for you."

You can't move as her blade comes down one last time.

 

**Clarke**

 

You let out a bloodcurdling yell as Nia's sword buries itself in the middle of Lexa's chest. You remember Gustus again, as he'd let the Commander take his life to save her own. You cup your hands over your mouth as the Ice Queen laughs and rakes the blade downwards, creating a gushing line of blood in its wake. The crooked incision tears through the word on her chest, causing more of her skin to crack open and expose itself. Bits of stringy muscle and flesh are visible from the cut. You watch as she removes the blade slowly and stands, leering over the downed Commander with a sadistic chuckle.

With a glorified laugh, she nonchalantly tosses the blade to the side before pressing her foot down on the cut she'd just made. The younger woman's body sinks deeper into the slick mud and Lexa lets out a howl of torment. Her eyes again flit wildly to your own gaping stare, her mouth slowly pooling with blood as you scream for her. Her shoulders and chest jerk upwards as her lungs fight to keep the fluid from dripping in. You go to run in her direction to help, but guards hold you back harder.

You're thrashing in their arms, fighting to get back to the woman who you'd once (loved) hated.

"I told you," Nia hisses at her face with a beaming grin as she steps off her arrogantly, "your fight is over, Heda."

Lexa's greens are slowly fading to grey, but when Nia turns her back on the Commander to walk and face her crowd of cheering Grounders, you watch in awe as the younger woman summons the very last ounce of her strength to heave upwards with a strained push, lifting her body from the ground.

She rises as if in slow-motion, reaching for her blade from where it lays beside her. Her bloodied hand grips the hilt and she stands. She digs the pointed end in first to give her some leverage as she hoists herself upwards. Once she's balanced, or as balanced as she can be, she draws it to a ready position. As the Ice Queen goes to make a speech about her victory, her arms spread out in a glorified salute to her warriors, Lexa staggers behind her with a newfound fire in her eyes. The Grounders gasp in shock as a rallying battle cry leaves the Commander's lips, causing Nia to turn around, completely aghast. The entire crowd watches in silence when the Queen's eyes widen in fear and outrage, but she has no weapon to hold.

For once, _the_ _Queen_ is out of time.

Lexa's blade slices harsh and fast across her neck. Her head slides off her body and to the ground, earning a gasp from the Grounder crowd. As soon as the Queen falls, her body and head separated as they slump to the ground in a sickening heap, the guards let go of you, equally confused as they are impressed. Another hushed silence befalls the crowd as they stare at their now decapitated leader. The rain pours down over Lexa's shoulders as she stares down at Nia's empty gaze, her eyelids still twitching. The blood gushes from her marred neck, and you can make out all the pulsing tendons in their last leg of life. The entire ring has turned into a crimson pool, partly because of the rain and partly because of all the lives taken.

"And I told _you_ ," the Commander says to the motionless body, "not today."

And then, finally, Lexa raises her head and stares at you.

Her eyes are pained from her wound, but there's something else in those green depths that ignites a fire in your heart. There's still blood dripping down her chin from where it oozes from the corner of her cracked lips, but she keeps her stare true. It's like she's finally recognizing you. The guards let go of their spears and take a step back when her eyes flit to them with a menacing challenge. You go to run to her, but Lexa shakes her head faintly. Curling an arm around her bleeding chest wound, she turns to the people that'd called for her blood and holds her chin up proudly, like the Commander you know all too well. A part of you revels in the power she possesses, in the strength and tenacity wielded within her caged heart.

"I am your Commander," she bellows out, incredibly well for someone with a gushing chest wound, "The spirit of our ancestors runs strong within me. I offer this to you, people of  _Azgeda_. A truce once again with the eleven clans. The Mountain Men are gone but there are still threats that lie beyond our borders. We are not all different, my kin. I have killed today for you, for your safety, for your _prosperity_. I have killed so your children do not have to. I have killed and taken the burden of death because I am _your_ leader. The Queen has subjected you to tyranny all these years. She has taken your families, your children, your wives and husbands. She has taken and not given. But, my brothers and sisters, I offer you safety under the coalition once more. I offer you the chance to make peace again, to fight as _one_ people. I offer you salvation. Follow me once again and I will give you the peace that you seek. There will be no more blood shed between our clans. There is more to our lives than survival. Let us end this war once and for all." 

The Grounders all look at each other as Lexa's hand drops from her stomach and she holds it in the air, stained with her own blood. Your heart catches in your throat, the tears drying on your face and being replaced with new ones as Lexa swallows thickly. The cries you have now are not out of fear, but a restored hope. You can see her beginning to waver, her body starting to give in against her wounds. God knows how long they've tortured her, maimed her, all so that she can stand here and take back what belongs to her and her people while her heart faintly beats.

"Join with me, and you will never experience this kind of brutality ever again!" Lexa's shout carries across the crowd, but they are quiet once more. Lexa stares at them all, her head held high despite her bleeding wound. You can hear the words she'd once told you long ago after _pauna_ nearly killed her.

_Commanders wear black to hide their wounds. Commanders do not bleed. Commanders are immortal._

You haven't forgiven her for the Mountain. You can't look her directly in the eye just yet. But, you can't lose her.

Not today. Maybe not ever. 

Your people are still in danger after the Mountain. Their forces are weaker now, their numbers fewer. After witnessing the unjustified duels, you come to realize that the Grounders stop at nothing to avenge their losses and wreak revenge. You know that Lexa is different, and you see it now in her posture. She does not want any more war. Her body is tired from fighting, not just from today, but since she'd first picked up a sword and was told she would lead her people. Her eyes are faded from too many years spent in mindless battles, risking her life for people that couldn't care less about her own. Her entire frame is littered with scars that serve as milestones in all those she's lost. And you know, as you watch her jaw clench at the lack of response from the silent crowd, she needs your help now more than ever. In the back of your mind, you know you need hers, too.

" _Heda_!" You chant out, surprising the guards around you and yourself with your loud voice. " _Skaïkru badannes ste kamp raun ai Heda!_ " 

Your voice carries over the thunder and clapping lightening. Lexa freezes at those words, but she doesn't shirk from her stance. Her eyes finally meet yours for the first time since the battle and you keep your stare true and strong. She looks like she is about to fall apart, but then another Grounder pipes up, cheering for her. It is not long until the entire crowd joins in - either out of reluctance or true commitment to the undefeated Heda - and they are chanting her name once again. A few  _Wanheda's_ are thrown in there because these people see - they _know_ that they are free also because of you. It is then that you realize when you killed the Mountain Men, you brought back a new chance for a fresh start for Lexa's people - _all_ of her people. You are the missing piece in her coalition and you can see that Lexa knows it. She holds her hand up and the roaring grows louder. You hold your own hand up and the Grounders cheer even louder. You are  _Skaïkru_ , once hated, but now revered as  _Wanheda_  by the Grounders.

By Lexa. 

You watch as she stands straighter with a rough breath. There is still blood tinging her lips, but she doesn't waver. You can see that her body is demanding her to fall, but she won't cave. Not when the world is depending on her to start again and move. She nods at you, her eyes dark and withholding some more. You swallow your nerves and walk towards her at a slow pace. You know that if you run, you will cry and all of this work, death, and blood will be lost in seconds. You step over Luna, Lexa's mother, and the beheaded Queen to reach the Commander of the Twelve Clans. Up close, her body is pale, her veins fighting to pump blood to areas that are seeping with the liquid. You look at her heaving chest and you know her time is limited. She glances at you with fire in her eyes and she asks without speaking. She needs help, but she can't seek it. Not yet.

She must be strong for both your people now.

 

**Lexa**

 

Clarke stands before you, beautiful, unwavering and determined Clarke. 

"You are not a ghost," you whisper, the first words to leave your lips. They are soft, delicate and you almost curse yourself for being so betrothed by her. Ever since she'd stepped foot into your tent, your body has always craved her proximity. Clarke's eyes well with tears, but she shakes them off before they can fall. Instead, she gulps and nods, stepping closer towards your deteriorating body. You are so confused. Are you passing on?

You frown and croak, "I did not lose you. They said… they said you were… they-"

"I am alive," Clarke whispers as she reaches for the sword in your hand and pulls the hilt into her palm. "And I am with you, Lexa."

You do not stop her when she takes the blade to her palm and slices. Blood burbles out and you watch as she reaches for your own torn hands. The Grounders cheers grow louder now and you can only do your best to not pass out when she curls her own blooding fingers between yours. She squeezes, her eyes still bearing true into your own. You wait a moment before you squeeze back as best you can. You suspect that there's nerve damage somewhere in your wrist, for you cannot grip her palm as tightly as you wish. Clarke doesn't seem to notice, and instead looks to your hand.

A part of you jumps at the thought that she fits _so right_.

"The _Skaïkru_ pledge their allegiance to you as the thirteenth clan under your coalition, Heda. We will provide you an army and resources to build upon our united clans," she says, loud enough for the people to hear. You look to her palm as your people start cheering and celebrating the death of the tyrant Queen. You know that not all of them will support this rushed union, one that you know Clarke did not make for you, but her own people so she can face the enemy with support. You take a deep breath and grip her hand tighter, clenching your jaw to ward off the ache to your split chest. 

Clarke looks at you with a guarded expression, a tint of animosity still lingering in those familiar blue eyes. Yet, you cannot help but bask in the mere presence of her. Clarke is here, Clarke is alive, and you did not kill her. You did not kill her. You almost want to cry at the statement. You tremble and your grip slackens with another uneven breath and Clarke's eyes widen, her eyes flitting down to your chest, where blood still pools from the wound.

" _Ai na fis em yu_ ," she whispers quietly, out of the roar of the people. Your cracked, bloodied lips part and a faint pained gasp leaves your mouth as you lower your hands. She doesn't remove them just yet. At first, Clarke's stare is glued to your blood on her hands, now melded together in a permanent bond. You realize that her people are now part of your own, that you have acquired another clan, but you squeeze as best you can to draw her attention. It's weak, but she looks up to your harrowed, but determined gaze. You will mourn those you have lost later.

Right now, you must be Heda. 

"I will protect them," you assure her with a pained, hoarse whisper. " _You_  are my people now."

(She's  _always_ been your people.)

Clarke nods and dips her head before finally letting go of your hand. You gulp and move away from her slowly as you straighten your back and continue to wave at your people. The feigned strength you carry only has so much reserve, and the healer inside Clarke knows this well. Her arm tightly winds around your waist and her other throws itself in the air with your own as she leads you out of the bloodied courtyard. As soon as the people are gone, your strength finally leaves you. You hear her muffled voice telling you to stand, that the horses are just a few feet away, but you cannot move.

Everything starts to get dark and fuzzy, and you suddenly can't see Clarke.

"I told you, didn't I?" Costia is again at your side, her hands clinging to yours. "Love is not a weakness, Leksa."

 

**Clarke**

 

You let out a slight cry as you watch as Lexa slumps against the wall like a sack of potatoes. Her knees collapse under her like a newborn foal. Her hands slip from where they'd been clutching her chest, letting more blood leak out. She's whimpering now, and you know that her wounds must be starting to burn and adrenalin she'd been driving off of for the past few hours is dying. Lexa's eyes are half-opened and glazed as you throw her good arm over your shoulder and heave upwards. She's too light for someone of her build and it _terrifies_ you.

"I'm sorry," Lexa slurs to you faintly as you trudge to find Dashiq, her words tying together in her haze. "I… k-kill… killed…"

"None of that now," you say back tersely, and you can feel the flinch in her frame as she leans more of her weight onto you. Her legs have stopped working now, and you're practically dragging her towards the front of the castle. She hacks a cough, blood spattering from her lips as she wheezes wetly. You can hear that one of her lungs is on the verge of collapse. She's _dying_. "I told you. I stand beside you, Commander. We're in a union now, my clan with yours. You kinda need to be alive to make sure you protect them. To protect me. You did great back there, but it's time for you to really fight, Heda. We all need you know more than ever. We need you to protect us. I need you to protect me, okay?"

"Protect Clarke," Lexa whispers to herself. She swallows harshly before repeating, "protect…  _Clarke_."

"Yes," you breathe into her hair. You can smell the blood and gore in her braids and nearly gag. "I will heal you. That is what I said I would do."

"No one can heal me," Lexa murmurs under her breath, and you feel your heart leap into your throat. You almost want to choke at how far away she sounds. Lexa's slowly ease shut as she whispers once more, "I was born broken, Clarke of the Sky People. I cannot be put together, only broken further."

You don't know how to respond, but you don't have to. There is squabbling in the background, and you quickly reach for Lexa's sword and heave it upwards. Her body falls into your side, her wounds finally taking what little adrenalin she had left as she collapses to the ground. You have no choice but to gently drop her and stand over her limp body as the footsteps grow louder. You raise the sword and brace yourself. Just as you are about to snarl and prepare to attack, something surprises you. The figures that come into your vision are not people you ever thought you'd be capable of facing again.

You watch in confusion as Bellamy, Lincoln, and Octavia burst around the corner. Octavia and Lincoln's swords are bloody, and Bellamy's face is cut up and bruised. Your heart drops at the sight of them and before you know it, they're running to you, wrapping their arms around you and murmuring words of your safety amongst their tears. You drop Lexa's sword and grip them against you, finding solace in their strong arms.

"We heard what happened," Bellamy tells you quietly. "You formed a union with the Commander." You nod and glance down at Lexa.

"I chose with my head," you whisper as Lincoln reaches down and pulls off his shirt. He tears the cloth into strips before Octavia acts on instincts and holds Lexa's body so he can tie them around her waist. He fastens the cloths around the wound, dulling the blood flow by a small amount. His hands look to be trembling when he repeats the process with more cloths before swinging her limp body gently into her arms. "Our people need her, Bell."

Bellamy's hand curls around your arm as he tugs you into his side, drawing you in for another quick hug before you lead them to the main gates where you know the healer from the Boat People is waiting. Bellamy does not speak of your actions when he sees Lexa's limp body in Lincoln's arms, because he knows this is not the time. You can't help but notice just how much he has changed since you'd left Camp Jaha. He's so much more mature now.

"I am glad you are safe," he says in return, giving you a gentle nod. "That is all that ever mattered, Clarke."

Before you can give him an answer or thanks, Dashiq finds you at the next corner and takes the unconscious Commander from Lincoln and hoists her upon his mare, adjusting her so her wounds are minimally agitated. He looks behind you for Luna, but you shake your head mournfully. Bellamy, Lincoln, and Octavia jump on the backs of the other guards' saddles while you keep your stare locked on the healer. His head bows and he looks to the Commander with an ounce of disdain, but more so relief. You place your hand on his thigh as you mount on Luna's horse behind him. She doesn't rear you off, but still huffs with your weight. Dashiq nods in understanding and pulls the pale, small-looking Commander tighter to his front. 

"Did she die well?" Dashiq asks softly as you make your ride back to  _Floukru_. Lexa's hand bobs back and forth, limp and dripping blood. You can't tear your eyes off her, unsure if her body will be able to sustain her wounds until they reach the healing tent. The cloths are stemming the blood for now, but it's not going to be enough. There could still be infections, sicknesses, so many other fatalities that may befall the leader of the twelve clans.

In the haze of your worried thoughts, you realize you haven't answered Dashiq's question.

"With honour," you whisper with a nod before turning to face the unconscious Commander once more, "by the hand of her  _yongon_." 

Dashiq smiles, but you see the tears forming in his eyes. He clearly had been attached to the leader of the Boat People, but as he tightens his grip on Lexa, you know he cares for her, too. There's a fond softness in his grip as he pulls her closer to her front, a history that speaks in the silent nod of appreciation he sends your way. The misting in his eyes is not entirely from the loss of his leader, but the state of the girl bobbing up and down as they ride through the trees. The rain has let up slightly, allowing the cold water to stop spattering against her already frigid skin. Your eyes stay locked to her as Bellamy's guard leads the way, going to prepare the other healers. You think back to Luna's dead boy, of her final words to you before Lexa pierced the blade into her heart and ended her life.

"I promise," you murmur to Lexa's motionless body, "I will not let you drown."

You pray that Lexa does not face that fate, because you did not make your decision with just your head.

You made it with your _heart_ , too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRANSLATIONS:
> 
> Biyo moba, beja - forgive me, please  
> Branwada - idiot/fool  
> Ge smak daun, gyon op nodotaim - get knocked down, get back up  
> Yu gonplei ste odon - your fight is over  
> Yongon - child  
> Mebi oso na hit choda op nodotaim - may we meet again  
> Ste yuj - stay strong  
> Ai hod yu in - I love you  
> Otaim - always  
> Hodnes - love  
> Wich in ai, en em setaim - believe in me, and her also  
> Ste ridiyo - stay true  
> Teik op frag em op - she must kill her  
> Osir gonplei nou ste odon nowe, nomon - our fight is never over, mother  
> Joka - fucker  
> Yu sou kom kwel in, splita - you are the weak one, outsider  
> Goufa - child (silly)  
> Wanheda - commander of death  
> Skaïkru badannes ste kamp raun ai Heda - the Sky People stand with you, Commander  
> Ai na fis em yu - I will heal you
> 
> ALL THE TRIGEDASLENG YAAS.
> 
> Thanks again, y'all! :)


	7. they seem to hate you because you're there

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> and i need a friend to make me happy, not stand here on my own

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: Original Character Death, Violence, and Suicide Mention.
> 
> Alright, so I was originally going to wait on releasing this chapter, but because my apartment building caught fire, I ended up just editing this chapter section while taking refuge in the library. Luckily there was no damage to my place, but it was pretty scary and fan fiction served as a great outlet to divert my panic, lol. I know I could've been studying or something else, but editing through this was really therapeutic.
> 
> This chapter has some mentions of suicidal thoughts/past attempts at suicide in Raven's section. Also, this is where it's gonna get kinda AU with Lexa's life story. Like I mentioned in the previous chapter, the rest of the chapters (a lot of them, actually) are gonna deal with Lexa and Clarke's joint healing because the precious babies need some time to mend their wounds (mental and physical). So yes, there will be a lot of chapters regarding healing, for those of you that have asked/requested it! :)
> 
> Thank you so much for all the comments again! Please, if you can, leave one! :) They really help me to know if I'm being too graphic/overwhelming/unrealistic/boring/redundant etc. I also really love getting email notifications saying that someone's left a comment. It really is the best part of the hard days :) You guys are all super sweet and I am super thankful for all your feedback thus far. Thank you, thank you, thank you! :D
> 
> The chapter title/summary comes from the song, "Wonderful Life" by Smith & Burrows.

 

 **Lexa**  

 

You're dying.

Voices are muffled around you, fingers sliding over the blood dripping down your chest and soaking what remains of your breeches. There's something pressing down on your chest, causing the fluid to thicken in your lungs. There is no pain hidden in your heart or your body, and you feel heavy. Your skin is wrung taut all wrong, muscles torn and bones cracked. You pull the rest of your strength into opening your eyes, gasping slightly when light nearly blinds your sight. Sunlight cascades over your frame, bathing you in warmth that soothes the ache in your weathering frame. It feels so good.

You wish you could smile.

"Hold on Lexa," someone is telling you, "just… just hang on okay? We're almost there."

"She needs real help," another voice grunts out, "her blood isn't clotting. She's losing too much."

"I will heal her," the first voice, so soft and painstakingly quiet whispers, "I promised her I would. I will heal her." 

You try hard to look at the light in front of you, golden waves of feather-light streaks that serve you no resonance. You make out the sky and the stars in her eyes, always infinite and worldly. You want to look closer, but everything is blurring faster now. More crimson liquid tinges your lips and you choke when the tangy blood dribbles down the back of your throat. You nearly cough and splutter, but you can't find the energy to even do that. You close your eyes again, feeling your body swaying as you're carried into oblivion. Your senses are leaving you and you can hear the calming hums of the afterlife reaching for you. Its hands are held out and open, its touch soft and warm with relief.

"Rest now," Luna murmurs as you feel her slender fingers caressing the back of your neck. Her hands curl into your blood-soaked braids, her lips finding your forehead to press a gentle kiss to your crown. You choke back a pained sob as you try to reach for her, but can't. You feel Costia's fingers intertwining with your slashed digits, tugging painlessly to assure you of her presence. She's lying beside you, her head tucked into your shoulder as she kisses your neck.

"You are safe now, _ai_   _hodnes_." Her voice is soft, weak - far away. "Let go, Leksa."

The darkness is tugging incessantly now, tempting you with more promises of peace and weightlessness. You crack your mouth open, searching for her lips. Her kiss is a ghostly whisper of your calling death, one that you want to answer because you don't know if you can live through anything else. Your heart's walls have crumbled, your soul is seeping out, and everything that you ever once kept close to your mind has left. Your mother's and father's hands are squeezing your opposite shoulder. Anya's hand is on your thigh. Indra has your free arm gripped in a Grounder farewell. Tomac and Gustus are at either side of your torso, their hands placed over the gaping hole in your middle. They surround you with their presence, their love and affection.

"Come," they hum quietly, their hands gripping you tighter. Your breath hitches, and then no more.

You let them take you, because you are too weak for anything else.

You're _dying_.

 

**Bellamy**

 

"Get her on the cot!" Clarke demands as soon as you and Octavia run towards the healer's tent. You turn around to see that the people of _Floukru_ are watching you, having left their tents and living spaces to gasp as the Commander is brought in, ripped to shreds and bleeding heavily. You try to ignore the shock and agony in their eyes as their beloved Commander is brought to the tent.

Without further hesitation, you grab the flaps to Dashiq's tent and hold them open as the massive man carries in the dying woman on the stretcher. Lincoln is on the other side, holding her up as they deposit her on the closest bed available. One of the other healers leaps up from her spot, but Dashiq orders her to leave and give them space. Clarke looks distraught, torn between helping or staying out due to her current state. Lexa's body slumps into the cot, her hand limply hanging down to allow the blood to drip off and to the floor. Dashiq is reaching for the cloths beside the drawers at his side, but then his eyes widen when he looks at the Commander's chest. You follow his stare and the entire room grows tensely silent within the moment.

Lexa's not breathing.

"No," Clarke growls as she surges forward and steps in front of Dashiq, ripping open Lexa's bandaged middle and folding her hands over the middle of her chest. Before she can start the compressions, Dashiq wraps his arm around her middle and tears her away. Clarke thrashes, sobbing out as she screams for Lexa to wake up, for this to not be real. Inside your chest, your heart is splitting off into tiny fragments. You can see it in her eyes.

Clarke _loves_ Lexa.

Not you, and you know that you're selfish for angrily staring at the woman who'd been senselessly tortured for three months because of your petty need for revenge. You look at Lexa's body and you feel ashamed of yourself, because you know that if anything ever required Lexa to give up her life for Clarke, she wouldn't hesitate to lay herself down in the fire. Like you, Clarke is a part of her that is unbreakable. The Sky Princess has wormed her way inside the not-so heartless leader. Your breathing picks up and you're forced to turn away when you hear Clarke shrieking, clawing desperately in an attempt to get back to the woman that lay dead on the table. Dashiq growls as she kicks and slaps at his beefy arms, but he doesn't let go.

"If you touch her, the cut will deepen. The arrow is still lodged in her back, Klark. The slightest nick could flood her lung." Dashiq's words are calm, but you can hear a sense of fear wavering from his voice. You go to intervene, because no one handles Clarke like that, but you watch as Dashiq holds her steady, calming her as Clarke cries in his arms, beating her fists against his broad chest. She's shaking her head, sobbing harder as she wails pitifully into his tunic.

"Her heart stopped," Lincoln breathes out as you all watch how the rise and fall of Lexa's chest now is still. You remember what happened to Lincoln and you reach inside your pocket for the static charger, throwing it the Grounder at the Commander's side. He catches it, but his brows knot with sadness. There's an underlying glance of knowing in his dark eyes as he nods down to the object in his hands.

"Will it work?" Lincoln asks, glancing to Clarke. Your friend has calmed now and she nods, though you can tell by the lines on her face that she's guessing. It's a leap of faith, one that Lexa can't afford to miss. Taking a breath, the Grounder utters a silent prayer before he grunts. Lincoln stabs the electric charger down on Lexa's chest and you watch as her entire body jolts upwards, more blood pooling out of the wound in the process.

"Come on," Clarke chants as she squirms out of Dashiq's hold and back to Lexa's side. It takes a few moments, but then a soft breath exhales past the Commander's lips. Clarke visibly slinks with relief, but then her face sets again. She turns to your sister and the Grounder, her eyes narrowed.

"We need to stitch her up," Clarke says, jumping straight into leader-mode that you'd not seen in three months. This Clarke is not the woman who'd been losing it. This is daughter-of-Abby-Griffin Clarke. She turns to you and growls out, "I need antiseptic or some sort of salve, bandages, sewing thread, a needle, some cool cloths for her fever, poultice, and water." You nod and set about gathering the items she'd requested with Lincoln, while Dashiq joins the Commander's other side, grabbing for a tool that looks similar to a pair of pliers. You try to look away as he slowly pulls the arrow from Lexa's shoulder before placing the object on a tray beside him. Octavia hands him a cloth and he presses it into the wound, soaking up the blood.

"Take one and go the wound on her leg," Dashiq tells your sister softly, "clean it and then press down to halt the bleeding."

Octavia nods and grabs the cloth, doing as he says with shaking hands and tears in her eyes. You know that while your sister and the Commander weren't ever close, and that the ties between them are harrowed by loss and betrayal, you can see how much the Commander means to her. You'd kept her hidden underneath floorboards, and she'd never been a part of the Sky People in its true essence. But when Indra accepted her as her second, you know that your sister had found a home with the people from the trees, with her new leader, with the Commander. You knew that parts of Lexa had loved her, too. She'd carried a pride for your sister that Abby or Kane never did. It breaks your heart at how her hand shakes, but she wills herself to be strong and push down on the massive gash in Lexa's skin. You hand the remainder of the items to Clarke with Lincoln at your side and sigh.

"Princess," you tell her softly as she accepts the cloths and sewing kit from your hands, "I know she's the Commander, but this is bad."

"I know," Clarke murmurs softly, "but I have to save her."

"Why?" You ask her quietly. _You_ love her. You are the one that would go to any end to save her life, even by putting yours on the line. You are the one that would run after her, to the barren ends of this world. You put your hand on that lever because the thought of Clarke taking everything killed you. Yet, Clarke's eyes mist and you know that the same emotion you feel towards her is being shone down on the resting Commander. 

"If she dies, so do we," Clarke answers in short, her walls going back up as she leans over Lexa's body to press against the gaping chest wound to soothe the steady loss of blood. Your eyes rake over the word, now split from the middle by the Queen's final cut, and feel your heart grow heavy inside your walls. You'd called her a traitor three months ago, but did she _really_ live up to the title?

"She has to survive," Clarke whispers, more painstakingly vulnerable than before, "because I need her, too."

 

**Raven**

 

"So you think that I tried to kill myself?"

Abby doesn't look at you when you pose the question, but you can hardly hide the scoff that leaves your lips.

"I'm worried," she offers as a response, her voice dry. "You tried-"

"I told you," you interrupt coldly, "that wasn't me. It was them."

"Raven, there is no them," Abby insists, reaching for your hand. You're still latched to this stupid bed like you're a criminal, but you don't flinch at her touch. Beneath your scowl, you know that she's right. There is no one really there except for the visions that plague you. In some sense, you find yourself wishing that you'd never met Finn, never had to deal with any of the hundred when you fell from space. You wish he hadn't given you the suit.

"What's wrong with me?" You ask quietly, giving her only the barest amount of admission. Abby lets out a quiet sigh.

"PTSD," she answers in short. "Your experiences have all piled up and now you're hallucinating. Wick says you're not sleeping or eating. You hardly interact with anyone. You're dissociating from society, Raven. That's what happened a few nights ago when you tried to kill yourself. You're right, it wasn't you. But at the same time, it wasn't not you either. Your mind is a dark place right now, but we're going to get through this."

"There is no _we_ ," you snap at her, tensing under the restraints. Your body starts to get restless. The voices in your head are telling you to run. Finn is glaring at you with Clarke and Lexa by the door, almost taunting you into joining their side. You fight to control your breath as you sob, "there is no we, Abby. There's only me, and _them_." Abby follows your gaze at your words, her shoulders tensing when you know she cannot see them like you do.

"Who do you see?" She asks you, turning back to face you seriously. You gulp, trying to stare away from their prying eyes. You grip the sheets underneath your palm as Lexa's arms weave around Clarke's waist. The younger woman laughs and nuzzles closer. Octavia and Bellamy appear from under the window sill, standing with devious grins as they watch you suffer. Finn reaches behind him for the spacesuit and he winks, smirking.

"Everyone," you whisper as your heart shatters inside your chest. "I am alone."

"No," Abby kindly murmurs, reaching again for your hand. "Raven, you have Wick, me, Kane - you're far from alone."

"I know," you answer dryly, glancing over to Clarke's mother with a blank expression. "But _they_ left me here, alone."

Abby doesn't answer this time, and you laugh. It starts out as a small scoff, which then grows into a chuckle. Before you know it, you're laughing sadistically. Abby stares at you like you've gone mad, and maybe you have, but you can't stop laughing. It doesn't take long before the chortling turns into sobbing. Tears gush down your cheeks as you convulse on the bed. They're creeping closer now, surrounding Abby as they glare down at you.

"We left you for a reason," Clarke says sinisterly, reaching out to hold out her bloodied hand, the knife still gripped tightly between her fingertips. "Did you honestly think that we would've come back for you? We told you, Raven. You're not special. You must always get hurt because you _deserve_ it."

"Why?" You plead as more tears rush down your cheeks. You thrash harder. Abby is gone. "Why me?!"

"Nobody loves you," Finn tells you nonchalantly, his hand reaching out to cover Clarke's own. "Nobody cares about Raven Reyes."

As everything suddenly goes dark, you can't help but believe them.

 

**Octavia**

 

"Now what?" You ask Dashiq as you mop up the blood from Lexa's leg. "I've cleaned it, but the wound is deep."

"She was mauled by a bear you said?" He asks pensively. You try to ignore how Clarke's brows nearly shoot to the roof of the tent. Before she can interject, you nod and tell him, "yeah, it happened a week before the duels. The thing bit her in the leg and flung her across the ring."

Dashiq bites his lip before turning to Lincoln and Bellamy, who are staring at the woman before you with wide eyes. He gestures for them to come closer before he pulls a knife from his side pocket. You watch as he cuts around the material of her pants, leaving her breeches only up to her mid-thigh. You gasp at the multitude of scars that map her legs, some old and others new. A spiralling tattoo starts from her heels and winds up the back of her calves, winding and twisting as it disappears into her pants. The ink is black mixed with a red hue similar to her sash, like they're two vines from the same tree. 

"Get the poultice," he orders Lincoln quickly. Dashiq abandons Lexa's shoulder to focus on her leg. You both look down at the two massive holes in her thigh. You nearly gag when you make out the faint outlines of pus that surrounds the wound. He hands you a thin piece of rope and asks you to tie it around the cut off her pants, probably to cut off her circulation and prevent her from bleeding out. You tie the knot quickly, trying to ignore how her skin is too warm to the touch, or how soft it is, scarred and rough in some places, but _soft_ in the same. She hardly seems like a Commander now.

"We need to dip it into the holes," he says as Lincoln comes over with the leaf mesh. You remember him getting something similar to when you'd been poisoned by the Grounders in your first fight. His eyes stay glued to Lexa's pale face, occasionally flitting down to her chest to make sure she breathes. There's so much history between the two of them from the stories he's told you. You understand it, though. You'd feel the same if this were Bellamy.

"Ready?" Dashiq asks as he takes a handful, glancing back up at your boyfriend. Lincoln nods and hods a few meshed leaves in his own hands. You grip Lexa's leg down with your brother as Dashiq grunts. At the same time, they push the material into her flesh. Lexa jerks involuntarily, letting out an unconscious whimper. Clarke's hand flies up to her forehead, stroking it even though you know that Lexa isn't aware of her touch.

"Let it set," Dashiq says as they both pull their hands away. "It should stop the inflammation and prevent infection."

"Okay," you whisper as Lincoln takes a step back, looking to the blood on his hands with awe and shock. He looks sickened by the weight of it splattered over his palms. You can see sympathy in Dashiq's eyes as Bellamy rises with your boyfriend. Lincoln just shakes his head and takes a breath.

"What now?" He asks quietly, his voice raw from trying to hold it together. Dashiq sighs and points to the cuts on her legs.

"Most of them are not too deep and won't require stitching," he says, but you know that what he's really saying is that the Ice Queen was keeping her alive for a reason. The thought of thousands of blades slicing into Lexa, just like they'd sliced into Gustus back in TonDC, makes you sick. It doesn't matter how bad the person is, no one deserved that painful of a death. Lincoln just stares on, eyes foggy with grief as he nods. He and Bellamy set to work in silence, cleaning and tending to the cuts around her ankles and calves. You turn back to the poultice on her thigh and sigh.

"Wrap it up," Dashiq murmurs to you quietly, "there's not much else we can do for her leg."

"The swelling will go down, right?" You ask as you start to wind a bandage around her wound. Clarke's head raises from where she's still working on mopping up the blood from Lexa's chest. Dashiq takes a breath, thinking hard about a correct answer. The silence alone is deafening and makes you want to sob. Clarke doesn't look any better, but she has the fortune of being able to turn her face away and swallow herself in the task of healing.

"Keep her in your prayers," Dashiq offers to say again, solemn. You nod faintly, trying to ignore how the words snag at your heart strings. A soft sob bursts from Lincoln's lips from beside you, a noise that causes all four of you to glance in his direction. You can see that his hands are shaking.

"Bell?" You ask, not bothering to give the full question. Bellamy knows, because that's exactly how he is. Always observant. He nods while you cup your hand around Lincoln's bicep and hoist him upwards. You pull him away from Lexa and into the camp. Outside, a crowd has formed. You gasp as faint murmurs of _Skaïkru_ and _Heda_ are passed around between them. Without thinking, you pull Lincoln through them and to a secluded area out of their prying eyes. You wait until it is completely silent to wrap your arms under his own, pulling him taut against you and holding him close.

"Ssh," you murmur, but your voice betrays you with its tremble. You never realized when you'd started crying with him, but the both of you are now sobbing into each other, brought on by the possible death of the Commander resting just a few paces away. Lincoln ducks his head into your shoulder.

"I should've got there quicker," he cries as he grips you tighter, "I… I failed her."

"We rescued her, Linc. We're still alive, and so is she. Lexa's strong," you tell him, fighting off more tears so that you may be strong. You remember a time when he used to call the people of the sky weak for knowing pain, but you only now understand that your definitions of strength are so different.

"Listen to me, okay? We're going to get through this. She's going to come back to us. Clarke is the best healer we have, besides Abby. Dashiq seems to know her, too. She's got us now, okay? Lexa got through the roughest parts, and now we're going to carry her through the process. She needs your love, Lincoln, and I know that anyone can get better with just an ounce of it. I did, didn't I?" You ask him, your hands reaching up to cup his jaw. You hold him tightly, assuringly, like you are the mast to his sinking ship, the one item he can cling to even if he's about to drown. You refuse to let him drown.

"She needs us," you tell him again, "please, Lincoln. You need to snap out of this and be there for her. Can you do that?"

There's a moment of silence before Lincoln nods. For a moment, he doesn't look like a man. He looks like a wandering child, and it makes you wonder just how many other friends he's lost in these years of constant war. Lexa isn't going to be lost, however. You refuse to allow her name fall to his list of passed loved ones. Parts of you know that Lexa needs him, too. Clarke needs Lexa. Bellamy needs Clarke. You need Bellamy. Lincoln needs you.

You all need each other, one way or another.

 

**Lexa**

 

"Leksa…"

You're standing in a forest, alone. A small wooden staff is clung in your hand as you peer around at the whispering branches. The wind always made them talk, and you found solace in their calm voices. Under this tree, your back rests with your head under the protective shade of the leaves. 

"Leksa," their voices hum in the cool afternoon. It's two moons into fall, but it's already starting to get chilly. You smile as you press yourself closer to the tree, grinning when you feel the moss against your small body. It's like a springy pillow, giving you warmth and support. You slide down the trunk at sit at the roots of the tree, feeling connected to the earth in a way you've never quite felt before. Your small, bare feet dig into the dirt and you feel free.

It's under this tree in which you spend your nights stargazing. Your _nontu_  often tells you that the stars are the souls of the past, and that everyone who'd ever resided on this planet ascends after life to the infinite sky of the universe. You gaze upwards to the dimming landscape, a little upset that it's not nighttime yet. You love the stars, and space, and everything that could be held out there. You have so many questions, even if you are so young. You question the possibility of other lives. Maybe there are more like you on different planets, in different systems. It's a giant world, and your tiny eyes have only seen so much of it. Another whisper of the trees causes a few leaves to tickle your skin, leaving you a giggling mess.

" _Nou_!" You laugh as you glance at the leaves. You hear a quiet squeaking and glance up to see a sparrow in the branch. It's a baby by the looks of it. Your eyes widen with innocent curiosity as it squeaks again, giving you a fond hello. You wave at it, trying to get its attention. Finally, it cocks its head and gives out another greeting before spreading its small wings. You watch as it jumps from the branch, but its wings are too underdeveloped.

You let out a cry as it falls to the ground with a thud. You rush over to it immediately, reaching out with your pudgy hands to hold it in your palms. It cries in your embrace, and you can see from the odd angle of its left wing, that it may not be flying anytime soon. You're about call for help when the trees bristle again. Your name is called again from the gentle breeze, but this time not from nature's sleeping giants. 

"Leksa, it's getting late," the quiet rumble of your _nontu's_  voice breaks you from looking at the injured bird. You glance over your shoulder to see him approaching, his dark eyes and charming grin lightening the heaviness in your heart for a bit. As soon as he makes out the worried expression on your face, he sighs and kneels beside you. Immediately, he seeks out the reason for your discomfort with the bird laying, whimpering in your hands.

"What happened?" He asks gently, reaching out to softly stroke its feathers. You curl into his side, still gripping the bird.

" _Em fel daun_ ," you mutter with a soft cry. Your father raises a brow and you already know what he's about to say.

"English, Lexa. Repeat it again," he murmurs kindly, his voice carrying no sorts of distaste. You sigh and roll your eyes at him.

"He fell down," you say, though your tongue gets tied on the words. English is still a work in progress for you, mostly because you don't care much for it. You don't want to be a warrior, you want to be healer. You glance back down at the bird and inspect its wing, trying to see if you can fix it. Your father follows your gaze, but his eyes grow cloudy. You see his fingers fidget, but he doesn't take the mewling baby bird from your hands yet.

" _Op ai na fis em_?" You ask, ignoring the teasingly displeased glance at your use of your native tongue. He instead sighs and watches as the bird's sounds grow weaker and its breathing start to shallow out. You hold it closer to your chest, trying to heal the sparrow with your warmth.

"Not everything can be healed, Leksa. Sometimes death is the only answer," he whispers to softly, placing his hands on your tangled mane of hair. He pats it soothingly, and you remember the days when he would say that it was identical to your mother's own curly locks. You nuzzle closer to him, clutching the baby bird with a soft cry. You hate when people die. Your village is on the outskirts of _Azgeda_ , where many wars are constantly raging.

"I want to save him," you mutter in broken English, glancing at the barely breathing bird with disdain. Tears well in your eyes as the bird stops breathing and grows still in your arms. Your father only winds his arms around you and sighs, pulling you into him as you start to cry. He lets you reveal your emotions, even though many men and other warriors in your village claim them to be weak. You feel so small in his arms, but he is your biggest shield.

"We can't save everyone, _hodnes_ ," he murmurs, pecking your head as you tuck your head into his chest, "it is the way of life. His spirit will move on."

"Can… can we put him in the ground?" You ask, unsure of the words. Your father offers you a faint smile before he nods, squeezing you again as he quietly rumbles, " _bury him_ , Leksa. But yes, we can do that if you wish. Where should we lay him to rest, _ai yongon_?" He doesn't taunt you for your slip up in English. He never has. He serves to teach you, like the educator and philosopher he is. Despite his kind ways, though, he's also a warrior.

But he'll always be your _nontu_ first.

"Under this tree," you say as soon as you are able to dry your tears. Your father nods and accepts, before reaching behind him for his sword. You watch as he moves over a little before sticking the blade out, ripping up tiny bits of the earth so you may place the bird inside. You do so with the utmost care. You've always had hands like your mother and brains like your father. You softly tuck the bird in before placing some dirt back on top with a sigh.

"It is done," your father murmurs as he goes to stand, "come, Leksa. Your _nomon_ awaits for dinner."

" _Sha, nontu_." You stand and follow him out of the comfort of the trees and back towards the wheat fields of your village.

Before you leave, you hazard a glance back towards the forest, to where under your favourite tree, the first life you ever buried rests in the earth. Your father is not one to talk much of death, other than to tell you that death is inevitable and the world is not a constant place. Things are always changing and new life is everywhere. Things are constantly growing and you will always be learning. There is no end to knowledge or curiosity. Your _nomon_ told you that the world is meant for exploring, and that it is so vast that there will never be a single human to see all of it. There will always be more to see.

And yet, there will also always be _death_. 

 

**Clarke**

 

Bellamy and Lincoln leave shortly after your confession, but you don't have the heart to follow the former man. A part of your heart wants to reach him, to go back and tell him that you're sorry for continually pushing and pulling when he's been nothing but stoic in your presence. He's the one that took a part of the burden back on the Mountain so that you wouldn't fall to the dark abyss of your mind, the place that you know he sees so clearly but says nothing about. Somewhere in those dark eyes, he carries the same weight on his shoulder. A pain similar to yours. He's not Finn, but he's also not Lexa.

You glance back down at the bleeding woman, now sound asleep. Her skin is paler than it should be, her veins protruding and her body still caked in dirt, blood, gore, and things that you don't even find yourself wanting to question. You mop up more of the blood around her chest, struggling to hold back a sob when only more of the crimson liquid drips out in its place. You've been desperately trying to get the wound to stop gushing, but it's terribly deep. Dashiq glances over at you from where he's patching up her shoulder. You can see something hidden in his eyes, and by the way he tenderly holds Lexa's arm, like she's nothing but a fragile flower in a harsh winter, you know that the Commander means more to him, too.

"You know her?" You ask, somehow finding the strength to converse with the gentle giant. Dashiq smiles half-heartedly before nodding.

"Luna told me that she was her adopted mother," you carry on speaking, knowing that if you do not distract yourself, you will feel Lexa's lifeblood staining your fingers, threatening to join the ranks of the others who've been killed at your palm. You're halfway though cleaning the gaping cut when Dashiq replies, his voice scratchy and soft. It reminds you of the mossy undergrowth that fell beneath the oldest of trees.

"She lived here until she was just over five summers old. It was before she was taken to train for the trials with Anya's guard," Dashiq murmurs, finding solace in the same mental distraction as he uses those plier-like things to pluck a few more pieces of shrapnel from Lexa's shoulder. "She was very small and thin, like a leaf. At first, when Luna brought her back, we thought she was no less than three summers. No doubt the runt of her family."

"She has other family?" You ask, pausing with your cleaning. Dashiq's eyes furrow and he sighs quietly.

"A sister," he murmurs in response, "she lived in TonDC. She was many years older, though. At the time, she was too young to house our Heda. When Luna found her, she agreed to take care of her until the Commander was old enough to choose where she wanted to live. Unfortunately, the relationship between the siblings was not as great as Luna wanted it to be. Oriana, Heda's _sis_ , always blamed the Commander for the death of their father."

"Wait," you say quietly, interrupting, "you said she _lived_ in TonDC?" Your emphasis of the word causes Dashiq's expression to grow mournful.

"She was there when the missile hit," he whispers quietly. You sit back in your chair, processing the information. You had no idea that Lexa even had other family, let alone family that had been in TonDC when the missile (you both knew about) destroyed the village and killed two hundred and fifty people. You'd seen as she'd turned to face the billowing smoke, that lingering grief that had passed those sea greens, but you never acknowledged it.

"She could still be alive?" You ask, jumping up slightly. Dashiq's expression does not change at your eagerness.

"One of the remaining members of the _Floukru_ brought her body back after the Commander herself inspected it," Dashiq hums, going back to attending to his Commander's shoulder. You let the weight of the information sink in, realizing that when you'd confronted Lexa in that tent, she'd lost more than just her warriors and innocent villagers. She lost the only remainder of her family, all for the sake of a war. Your anger at the Mountain Men only grows.

"It is over now, Klark." Dashiq's calm words centre you back into the present. "Heda would not benefit from your panic."

"Yeah," you murmur in response, still at a loss for words. You'd never had a sibling because of that stupid rule on the Ark, but you know that if Bellamy or Octavia were to lose each other, they'd both be equally devastated. Dashiq rumbles something quiet under his breath, and you turn your attention to where he is pulling more shrapnel from inside the uneven incision in her shoulder. He places the pieces beside him before continuing his task.

You tear your eyes away from the sight, unable to watch as you let it sink in that those pieces of metal were once embedded in her skin. She'd gone the entire duration of the duels after Tomac with the arrow in her skin. You know there's another one in her back, waiting to be pulled out, but it's too lodged inside to be dealt with in the current moment. You've applied a bandage to quell bleeding, but it will take some time to see whether it would be beneficial to remove it or keep it inside. Another healer comes into the room and Dashiq hands her the entire arrow, pieces and all, before muttering something low and not understandable. She nods with a faint grimace to the state of the Commander before ducking out without another word.

"Heda was always so stubborn," Dashiq continues to say with a rough chuckle, resuming his task of stitching her shoulder. His hands, while giant and calloused, work like they are pliant and smooth. He moves meticulously and slowly, as if the act of healing is an art in itself. "She refused to listen to anyone, had a thick head, and always got herself into trouble." You pause for a moment, your heart leaping up into your throat at the thought of a child version of Lexa. Would she be loud or quiet? Calm or hyperactive? Did she have a signature pout or a strike of innocence? Did she live freely?

Was she ever truly _happy_?

"She sounds like any other child," you say in an effort to crack a joke. Dashiq sees your intention and offers a grunted chuckle before he finishes stitching up the hole in her skin. He sets the needle aside and reaches for the bandage. He works carefully to wind the cloth around the wound.

"She was. And in some sense, she still is," he replies wistfully, glancing up at you with warm, dark eyes. "Sometimes we forget we are led by a child."

"I didn't know she was nineteen," you admit softly, going back to pressing the bloodied cloths against her chest. "With her warpaint on, she looks like she could be more than twenty-five, maybe even twenty-eight. I don't know what it is about her, but she seems older than her real age." Dashiq hums at your response, another light chuckle burbling up in the back of his throat as he finishes tying the bandage around her arm tightly.

"Her eyes," he tells you, nodding, "that is where her age lies. Our Heda may be a child, but she is also a millennia-old soul."

"Reincarnation," you agree with him, wiping up the last line of blood. "Lexa told me about that."

"You don't believe it?" Dashiq asks, cocking his head with an inquisitive expression. You merely shrug, trying to not glance up into Lexa's closed eyes. You can still hear her asking you, before _pauna_ came in, how your leaders were chosen. You think it's almost symbolic that your hands are ghosting over her chest, where the spirit of the Commander, of _Heda_ , is supposedly trapped in her body. You want to believe her, but you grew up on the Ark.

Things were different because your home was _dying_.

"It is okay to not find it acceptable," Dashiq hums, moving his chair down from where he sat at her arm to glance at her wrist. "We all have our beliefs, what comforts us at night or holds our hopes up. Heda always allowed for people to question her leadership, though she used to be a bit more lenient before…" He trails off, his eyes growing sad and mournful. You gulp down the anxiety that brews in your throat as you choke back a soft cry.

"Costia," you finish for him. Dashiq pauses and nods, closing his eyes.

"It is not my place," he murmurs as he reopens them to gaze back at his Commander. "Besides, now is not the time for these talks."

 _Please_ , Luna's voice echoes in the back of your mind, _don't let her drown._

You shake the thought away and turn back to your patient (you can't acknowledge her as Lexa, not yet, not here) and sigh. You know that her chest bindings, that have already torn but are still clinging to her slick frame, must go. You hold back the blush as you watch her breasts come free when you cut the cloth free before gently taking it out from under you. You grit your teeth as tears burn at your eyes with the sight of her bare chest.

It's time you made good on your promise.

 

**Abby**

 

"Don't you think you should take some time off?"

You glance up from attending to a soldier's broken limb to see Kane walk into the room with a tray of food and a bottle of water. You turn back to the IV running through the man's system and make sure that he's okay before sighing and rising. You accept the apple from his tray and walk over to another person in the medical bay. Kane follows, setting the tray down by your desk near the wall. You are about to reach for a clipboard when his hand finds yours. You feel yourself being tugged around and face-to-face with Kane. His gaze is gentle as he flickers from your mouth to your eyes.

"You need to rest," he murmurs as his fingers stroke over the back of your hand. "You're no good to anyone when you're walking dead."

"I have to help them," you mutter indignantly as you try to break free from his hold. You curse your body for betraying you as your knees wobble. You feel yourself falling before you can register it. And yet, Kane is there, solid and stoic like he's been since falling to the ground. He nods over to Jackson while his arms wind around you, and your assistant only smiles gratefully that you're finally leaving the room and allowing him to work alone.

Kane carries you down the quiet halls and towards the dorms. He adjusts you in his arms so he can open your door before he lays you down on the bed gently. You don't protest as he searches your eyes for silent consent. You only sigh and nod, extending your arms so that he can take your shirt off. He removes your pants slowly before reaching for the blankets and tucking you under them. You feel him tuck them up under your chin like you're a child.

You used to do the same thing with Clarke.

The first tear comes out slowly, and Kane, always so patient, waits until it slides down your chin for him to brush away the tracks. You continue to cry in the darkness of the room and his unwavering presence. His hand finds yours through the covers, squeezing lightly. You gasp as you begin to sob. In all truth, you feel like a failure. You can't fix Raven. You can't find Clarke. You can't help the injured. You can't talk about your feelings.

You killed your husband.

 _Everyone has battle scars_ , you heard Raven once tell Finn, _suck it up and build a brace for yours_.

Maybe you should, too.

"Can you stay?" You ask Kane softly, glancing up at him in the pale light from the hall. "With me?"

At first, he looks confused. You're the last person to ask for help. You're the ever brave, never faltering Chancellor. In some ways, you find yourself thinking about the times Clarke had once told you that you were cruel and thoughtless. That you couldn't feel things because you always thought about yourself. The truth is, you've always wanted to protect your people. You don't usually think much about your own well-being, and especially after the Mountain, you know that your problems are nothing compared to the kids. Kane saw the same thing as soon as you'd come home.

"Okay," he murmurs as he goes to sit in the chair beside your bed. Before he can move, you grip his hand tightly.

"Abby?" He asks quietly, still confused. You gulp as more tears well in your eyes.

"Here," you whisper with a croak, "I want you to stay here."

"Oh," he says, but he doesn't move. Instead, he gives you a soft nod and a gentle smile before crawling in next to you. At first, you both don't move. You lay there awkwardly, staring at the ceiling in silence. Your breaths are soft and slow, your bodies preparing to rest after months of hardship.

Then, somewhere in the battle that wages in both your minds, your hands reach for each other.

Neither of you speak when your fingers entangle and squeeze, softly at first and then harder. It's like you both need assurance that you're still here. _Alive_. That in the morning, you will rise and start anew. That your hearts will continue to beat and the cogs in your minds will still turn. Your fights are worn down with several plaguing memories, from back on the Ark to down on the ground. Your resolve breaks when his skin touches yours. You sob, loud and free, letting everything you've ever done wrong, from exposing Jake to losing Clarke, run free with your tears.

But, for once, you are not alone.

"The kids will be alright," Kane whispers to you, the same words you'd once uttered to Raven. "They know what they're doing, Abby."

"I sure to God hope so," you say hoarsely, the last few tears sliding into your hair, "because I don't want them to feel like us, Marcus."

No one deserves this. 

 

**Lincoln**

 

"You should sleep," Bellamy tells you as he settles beside you at the fire, holding a cup. Octavia is already out on your lap, her hair splayed out and mouth opened slightly. You place your hand on her side, your eyes staring off into the fire with a distant gaze. Bellamy sighs when you don't respond.

"You know," he murmurs softly, looking to the remnants of swill in his hands. "When Octavia came back from the river, attacked by the monster, I never wanted to let her out of my sight again. I spent my entire life keeping her hidden under our floor, making sure that she wouldn't get floated just for being alive. There were sometimes when I hated her, where I wished for a normal life, but I realized that the floor couldn't hold her down." You remain quiet as Bellamy gazes wistfully at his sister. There'd been a time where he'd once tied you up and tortured you just for being a Grounder, and now here he is, attempting to comfort you while the woman who'd spent her life being your protector rests on the brink of death a few steps away.

Bellamy sees that you're not up for responding by the tight clenching of your jaw. He looks into his glass and takes a tentative sip before leaning back against the log upon which he rests. The two of you spend a few moments in the tense silence, just lost in your own thoughts. You keep flashing back to when you'd been a kid, to when you and Lexa would play-fight with Tristan and Costia. You remember all the times when she would knock you into the mud, no matter how you towered over her in size. And after she knocked you over, she'd reach down and pick you up with that famous smile.

You wonder if she can still smile like that.

It disappeared the day Atohl's guard came with a box. The happiness and love faded from her eyes the minute Costia's loosely open eyes stared at her from the container, her blue eyes dull with post-mortem. You remember how broken and distant she became. She'd ordered the death of warriors that had played no part in her love's death, but because they'd come from the Ice Nation, their blood was demanded. You remember how after they'd been slain and she came back bloody and bruised, barely hanging onto the reigns of her horse, Anya had asked her if it'd made her feel better.

 _No_ , she'd said coldly, though her voice had cracked. _It didn't._

"I'm sorry," Bellamy says, interrupting your thought process. You blink in confusion. Why would he be apologizing? The man clears his throat and inches forward, rubbing the back of his head as he sighs. He sets his drink down and folds his arms over his knees, pulling them up to his chest like a child.

"It's _my_ fault that Lexa's in the tent back there," he whispers quietly, staring into the fire with steely eyes. "If I hadn't suggested going to Lexa and demanding for vengeance, she wouldn't be here, hurt. _I_ took her to the Queen. This is on me, Lincoln. For that, I'm sorry. I really mean it."

"Is that supposed to comfort me?" You ask, your voice raw from not speaking. "Is it supposed to make me feel better?"

Bellamy does not speak.

"I agreed with you," you say after awhile, glancing over his shoulder and to Dashiq's tent. "I'm just as much to blame as you are."

"But you didn't hate her," Bellamy replies, nodding his head up so that your gazes meet. "I did it out of spite, not just revenge."

"You love Clarke," you say, your voice like lead. Bellamy doesn't speak, but he nods slowly. He kicks at a few leaves in front of him, letting them be burned by the fire in front of the two of you. His eyes darken, his mind going somewhere foreign. You clench your jaw again, but not out of anger.

"I just saw Lexa as toxic, you know? I saw how ruthless she was. I mean, Octavia was in TonDC when that missile hit. She could've killed my sister, Indra, Kane, Abby - there were so many people that could have died because she didn't warn them of the bomb. After Finn, and then TonDC, I just was so furious. And then she leaves us at the Mountain? Clarke told me that she kissed her and the just up and left," he goes on to say with a low growl. You narrow your gaze, glaring at the man. He quickly readjusts before clearing his throat apologetically. "I was just angry. I was angry that of all the people Clarke could fall for, it was Lexa. It was the same woman who made her kill Finn. The same woman that betrayed us. And Clarke chose _her_."

"Lexa doesn't have liberties like Clarke does," you reply back dryly. "I told you back before Finn was murdered. If Lexa was truly ruthless, she would've gone to war. She wouldn't have even listened to Clarke's proposition. Her first orders when you trespassed on our land five months ago was to kill all of you, even when Anya told her of Clarke's meeting. She talked of Clarke's wit and strength, of the Sky Princess with golden hair and eyes like the sky." Bellamy goes quiet when you reminisce of how Lexa had pondered the thought of Clarke for a split second - in that second that you almost thought the _real_ Lexa had returned - before she immediately snarled and ordered out a bounty for the heads of all the Sky People. 

"Why did she kill want to kill us? We didn't even know of your boundaries," Bellamy counters, cocking his head in confusion. You sigh.

"Lexa changed… the girl that is in that tent right now used to be a very different person," you explain softly, leaning back against the log. "She thought of her people first, just like she does now, but back then she wanted peace. She hated war. Hated death. Hated taking a life. She just wanted our clans to work together. We were pointlessly each other's enemies when we should have been each other's allies against the Mountain Men."

"The coalition," Bellamy says in a quiet murmur. You nod and stroke Octavia's side, your lips turning up with a faint smile when she mewls in her sleep. You glance back at the other Blake with a distant gaze. Octavia inches closer to you, and you reach down to tangle your fingers together loosely.

"Just be lucky you fell when Lexa was in command," you mutter as you look up to the stars, "anyone else and you might not have been so lucky."

"Isn't that what life is all about, though?" Bellamy asks with a wistful tone. "Luck?"

You nod shortly, your eyes glancing back to the tent. 

"She'll make it," Bellamy muses softly, turning his head to follow your gaze. "I don't think I've ever met someone so… incredible."

"I thought you hated her," you say with a grunt. Bellamy turns his eyes back to you, offering a flimsy, sad smile.

"I hated Clarke once," he says as he looks back to his cup, "but things change with time, I guess."

 

**Clarke**

 

Traitor.

You hate that word.

 _Natrona_  is angrily scrawled across her skin, making you feel livid for the Queen that'd done such a thing. You ache to run your fingers over the mark, to press on it, because despite the fact that this is Lexa, she's still the same woman who left you to die at the mountain and you know that while you have to help her, the pain of her decision still haunts you. The pain of watching her back retreating up the hill with her warriors is an image you cannot erase. Dashiq notices your hesitation to help her, but says nothing. You see him eye the word and look away, as if he were trying to hold back doing the same thing. Only you know that he would never wish Lexa harm; he would never want to burn the word into her skin so it lives with her forever.  

He wants to take it away. 

But you, _you_ cave because like Lexa, you are weak.

Your finger skirts over the _N_ , the _A_ , the _T_ , and by the time you reach the centre, the _R_ , your fingers are struggling to keep from shaking. From the top of the _R_ starts the slice from the middle of her chest to just below her navel. Your eyes flit over her breasts for a moment, and you blush again because this is not how you wanted to see Lexa (if you _ever_ wanted to see Lexa) like this. You notice immediately the abundance of tattoos that adorn her skin. A bird under her left breast, small but powerfully drawn. A circle of rings along her right ribs - the elements in _Trigedasleng_ \- followed by a small tree symbol, similar to the cog she'd wear on her forehead, upon the centre of her sternum. Some of the twisted ink from her legs spills out on her hips.

You don't know the stories of the marks, and as you watch Dashiq cut away at more of her tunic to reveal more of her skin, you can't help but wonder how many other tattoos Lexa has. You shake away thoughts again and reach for your sewing kit, placing the cloth to the side. You can make out the deep red flesh underneath the cut, with the faintest glimpse of her actual rib bones as she inhales and exhales too slowly for this all to be even slightly hopeful. She's fighting on her last breath, literally. The thought makes you quiver with agony, that maybe you've bitten off too much this time around.

You are Clarke Griffin, you realize as you start near her navel, and Clarke Griffin has no happy ending. 

In some strange sense, this is the first time you really understand Lexa.

"Your hands shake too violently," Dashiq tells you, breaking you from the trance you'd set yourself in. You glance up to see that he's staring at the sewing job you've done of her skin and you almost want to laugh because it reminds you of the fifth grade on the Ark, when you had to sew a button to a piece of cloth and how you'd completely ruined both pieces of equipment. In the end, your mother had to sew the button on for you. But this is different. Here you can't laugh and your mother can't save you, because the thing you are stitching is not a button. This is _Lexa_.

You don't get a do-over.

"Can… can you?" Your voice quivers now, breaking from the resolve you'd set earlier. You're thinking too much and he knows it. He takes the needle from your hands and starts to sew her back together. You want to vomit at how Lexa's eyes flicker under her closed lids, threatening to wake. Beads of sweat trail down her forehead, dampening the pillow behind her head. Her hair, still matted and dry with blood, is splayed out around her narrow face. You know that she will not rise, not while her blood is still leaking out despite Dashiq weaving her back together like a torn blanket. 

When his hands start to reach the undersides of her breasts, you find something on Lexa's skin that makes your heart stop. There are a handful (more than that, but you won't admit it out of losing your mind) of burned marks in her chest, right under the last _N_ of the word seared into her skin. You stare at them, old and faded, but still there in every sense of the matter. Your mouth goes dry when you flash back to Luna's explanation of the scars. 

"Before she was Heda," Dashiq murmurs quietly, catching your stare. "They stopped after she took command."

" _They_?" You echo, your eyes misting again despite your best efforts to not feel. "Who's they?"

You wonder if Lexa would be as distressed as you if the tables were turned, if you were the one on the table getting your body stitched together piece by piece. Would she hold a vigil for you? Weave you together with her calloused hands? Perhaps she would murmur sweet nothings as her healer worked. You glance down to Lexa's palms, making out the faintest scars on her cracked skin that aren't covered by the thick white bandage. Something in your throat gets caught at the thought that Lexa never really had a choice in her destiny. What if she had wanted to be something different? Maybe a hunter or fisherwoman? Maybe she wanted to be an educator or scholar? A blacksmith? A healer? A merchant or trader? Perhaps a nomad or priest, if Grounder culture had something similar to those occupations. There are infinite possibilities, but she never had a choice.

Dashiq pauses for a moment, and you fear that his hand will shake, too.

"Anya and Luna," Dashiq whispers as he finishes the last weaving at the top of her chest. He fastens it tightly to ensure the sutures stay. The stitches are gruesomely crimson, with blood still slowly seeping out from the needle's insertion. "The Commander's body was taking too many at the time, and they both knew that her new role would only make room for more. They wanted Leksa to still have some essence of herself left when she took the lead."

The statement is so powerful that your breath is knocked from your lungs. You almost want to run from the room, like you had done when Quint accused you of not being able to provide a plan to save his people. But Dashiq is not Quint. He puts the needle and thread down and swallows harshly. You lean back in the chair, even though the majority of your body screams for you to get over yourself because Lexa is _dying_ in front of you. The girl that locked her heart away so that she wouldn't get hurt is now laying before you, injured beyond comprehension. You just feel so tired, so defeated.

"Costia was the one who convinced them," he says with a quiet hum, almost as though he were afraid to murmur her name in front of the sleeping Commander. You perk slightly at the mention of Lexa's old lover, one that you know probably resided in one of those inked markings upon her skin. You go to ask about her, but Dashiq holds up a bloody hand - a reminder that this is not the time (and in a sense, not his place) for such things, just like he'd tried to say before. Instead you nod, set your jaw and harden your gaze, pick up your tools with shaky hands, and you get back to work.

You made her a promise, after all.

 

**Lexa**

 

When you blink open your eyes, your body is weightless.

Burning fields of wheat surround you. People are screaming and there are howls from warriors staking their claims in the distance. You look down to see yourself covered in blood, dressed in the tunic and pants your  _nomon_  had given you that morning after you'd made a mess of your previous clothes while exploring in the woods earlier that morning with your father. At the thought of the girl you love so dearly, your small body shoots upwards, taking in the scene of the burning village before you. Somehow, your wobbly knees allow you to stand and you run towards the flame. 

" _Nontu_!" You scream, your voice high pitched and wailing like the child you are, " _Nontu_  where are you?"

"Here," his voice comes as a hand latches onto your shoulder. "I am right here, _hodnes_."

You look to him, gasping when you see an arrow lodged in his back. His eyes are calm and stern, but he's older than you, calmer than you, when his hands reach out to hold your face steady. Tears streak down your cheeks faster now, harder than before. Before you can speak, the sounds of horses galloping towards you break your stare. Your father's breaths are slower now as you both turn to see a figure riding towards you. There's a grim expression in the approaching woman's eyes, but her gaze only lands on you, not the man who stands beside you. Your father has let go of your face and his hands have dropped, but you don't notice. You finally see her face clearly as the fire burns harder in the distance.

"We must go," your mother tells you as more warriors pillage the helpless village. " _Aleksandria_ , it is time." 

You hate how your name sounds so pathetic on her tongue, how defeated her eyes are and how rigid her body becomes as she passes a glance to your father. You hate how she swoops down and grabs you with one arm like you weigh nothing and slides you to your front. But then you watch as your remains on the ground, her head cocked up to you with sad eyes. You see the sword in his hands, trembling but somehow still steady in the same. You scream and thrash in your mother's arms as another arrow whizzes through the air and slices through his shoulder. He does not flinch or waver, however. Only his eyes grow sadder when he sees you resisting your mother's hold. The tears are streaming down your face faster now.

" _Ste yuj, ai yongon_ ," he tells you softly as the horse whines and pounces with the crackling boom of another explosion. He steps forward and places his hand on the mare, calming the animal with soothing hums. You cry harder as he glances to your mother, exchanging silent words of love and mournful apologies, of a farewell that is meant to be permanent. More warriors scream behind you, snapping your father's eyes away from the two of you. He stiffens as he sees them approaching over the ridge, bows and swords drawn and ready. He takes a breath to steady himself as he stares them down.

" _Nontu_ ," you whimper as your mother pulls you closer. Her hands are shaking now, her grip on you slacking. " _Nontu, beja_!"

"Quiet,  _hodnes_ ," your father whispers as he turns back to you, offering a proud but sorrowful smile. He looks to his sword before holding it out to you, the blade nicking his hand as he presents the hilt of the weapon towards you. You cry harder at the gesture, but he only nods as your world continues to burn. He gives you that signature smile that is sweet like honeysuckle. Yet, this time, it does little to calm you, especially with the longing in his eyes.

"The forest is your home now, Aleksandria," he murmurs wistfully, "and within it you will lead. It is time for your journey, _ai hodnes_."

" _Nontu_ ," you breathe out again as he pushes the hilt into your trembling hands. You turn to gaze at your mother, who has tears in her eyes. Anger fills those once calming sea green depths that not long ago, were filled with warmth and love. Her hands that are now shaking, were once handing you some bread and fish stew while your father amicably talked about his merchant trades. You grab her sleeve and tug, hard." _Beja, nomon! Sis em au_. _Beja_!"

"Go," your father tells you strictly, forcing you to grip the blade as another arrow strikes his lower back. His eyes shimmer with tears and you scream. The warriors are getting closer and closer, and your father is even closer to death. The horse rears again as you are forced to take the blade from his hands. You watch as his gaze softens and he smiles, honest and certain and pure in the wake of the fire. He grazes your hand and nods proudly.

" _Ai gonplei ste odon, Aleksandria_ ," he whispers to you, "but yours has just begun. Stand true. Be strong. Fight.  _Ai hod yu in, ai yongon_. Never forget that. I am so proud of you, my little sparrow. You are the most amazing thing to come into my life. I will always cherish you until the bitter end. Now, go. Ride fast and far. My job is to protect you, my love. Do not forget about me, and when you need me, look up. I will be with you, in the stars."

" _Nontu_!" You scream his name as your mother kicks at the horse and it begins to dash forward. " _Nontu, nou no! Beja, no!_ "

But he does not follow you. He does not chase your mother and the horse into the woods. His blade clinks at your side as he continues to stare at you as you retreat, growing smaller and smaller as you disappear into the forest with your mother. She is crying around you, one of her arms wound tightly around your belly to keep you steady atop the retreating horse. She doesn't look back like you do. Though your father may be at a distance, you can still see his eyes, calm and steady like the forest woods. He wraps his fingers into a fist before thumping it once against his chest. He nods at you proudly.

The last thing you see is a final arrow piercing his back, right through his heart, before he collapses.

" _Nontu_ , no," you whimper as continue to hear the bellowing of warriors behind you. Why are they following you? Why have they killed your people, your father? You look to the blade in your hand and feel nothing but sickness as your mother sends the horse jumping over fallen logs and deep ravines. You feel her body twist as she turns to look behind you, and you join her. You feel her spine stiffen and her jaw clenches as she rears the horse to a sharp right. She rides true and fast for a few minutes through the thick underbrush of the forest before she brings the horse to a halt. 

" _Nomon_?" You ask with a shaky voice, your breaths still hiccuping. The butterflies that flutter inside your stomach have been ignited into a frenzy, churning your belly to the point of shaking. Your mother shakes her head, avoiding your gaze as she reaches for you, placing you on the ground with eyes brimming with tears. You remain frozen as she kneels, cupping your face before closing her eyes and leaning in to kiss your forehead.

" _Ai hod yu in,_ " she whispers softly, "but this is where we must part, Aleksandria. Our souls are meant to travel in two different directions, two separate paths now. I prayed it would not come so soon, but I cannot change our fate. I wish I could stay with you, _ai yongon_ , but my path requires different choices. Ones that perhaps you may never forgive me for." She pulls back, her voice scratchy as the tears break through the walls and rush down her cheeks. She thumbs over your jaw and lips before pulling you in for a suffocating hug. You do not understand. Why are they all just leaving you?

" _N-Nomon, h-haukom_?" You ask as you cling to her, desperate for her love and comfort. You nuzzle your head into her chest, seeking her strong heartbeat that never failed to lull you into a serene state. She pulls away before it can last any longer than a few moments, shaking her head as she looks to the sword. There is still blood on your coat, but you're unsure of how it'd gotten there. Your mother bites her lip and chokes back a sob. 

"Victory stands on the back of sacrifice," she tells you as she stands and moves to her horse. You go to follow but she pushes you back, her calm eyes now turned a mournful rage. "But you are strong, like your father, like the forest and the trees. You are rooted to this earth because you have been born from it. Your soul is intertwined with the vines from the trees. Your mind is as vast as the forest. You have so much potential, _ai Aleksandria_. You have such love and kindness in your heart. You must use that love to keep moving, for time is infinite. While it is, _you_ are not. Do not give up, _hodnes_."

" _Nomon_?" You choke as you try to walk towards her. She shakes her head, wiping away a few tears before jumping up to straddle her horse. She glances back and grabs the reigns. The shouts of the warriors bellow louder now. They are getting closer. Your mother's eyes flash and she quickly kicks at the horse, causing the animal to trot a few paces forward. You run after her again, but she glares at you with a smouldering gaze, though you can see pain.

" _Set daun_ , _Aleksandria_!" She snarls at you, the love ripped from her voice to be replaced by sadness and pain. "You _cannot_ follow. I know you are scared, my love, but you cannot follow me. I love you, and I always will, but you must be brave. You will be okay, sweetheart. You are strong, just like your _nontu_. You have his courage. You must use it to live. One day you will achieve great things, _ai hodnes_. I will always love you. Goodbye, _ai yongon_." 

You can only watch as she kicks at her horse harder, causing it to gallop away. You want to run but you can't. Your legs have turned to stone and your arms are weightless like jelly. You just watch as she rides, yelling something to get the attention of the warriors. You can hear their footsteps louder now, forcing you to hold back your own scream of agony. She yells again before she rides swiftly until she fades out of sight. You back up, sobbing harsh enough to make it feel like your ribs are breaking, until your back hits a tree and you slump down. You hear the footsteps of the warriors, but they do not find you. They follow the path of your _nomon_ , now long gone and out of sight with whooping cheers and taunting snarls. You look to your blade and growl, rising as if to wield it. You try to lift it, but your arms are too heavy and your legs too weak. Instead, you fall back to the ground.

You glance down at your feet, making out the grave you'd made with your father earlier for the fallen sparrow. You let your blade drop softly as you reach out to graze your fingers over the lump of dirt. You cry again, because today you learned the true value of death. You can smell the smoke and scent of burned flesh from your ruined village. It coats the once beautiful green leaves of the forest in a smoggy hue. You curl your knees to your chest and sob into your legs, your body trembling violently from the exertion it requires. You can hear the warriors' voices fade out into nothing, leaving you in the silence of the lands that once gave you peace. You close your eyes and pray for your father and mother, that you may once again meet.

But soon enough, you are left alone in a world consumed by war.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRANSLATIONS:
> 
> Ai hodnes - my love  
> Floukru - The Boat People  
> Nou - stop  
> Em fel daun - he fell down  
> Op ai na fis em - can I heal him  
> Ai yongon - my child  
> Nontu/Nomon - Father/Mother  
> Sha - yes  
> Ste yuj - stay strong  
> Beja - please  
> Sis em au - take him  
> Ai gonplei ste odon - my fight is over  
> Ai hod yu in - I love you  
> Haukom - why  
> Set daun - stay down
> 
> Ah another roller coaster of Lexa feels. Only two more days left till season three and I'm dying.
> 
> Please leave a comment if possible! I will get back to y'all ASAP :D Thanks again for the support!!


	8. who am i, to be your burden in time (i come alone here)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> who am i, darling to you?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THERE ARE NO TRIGGER WARNINGS FOR THIS CHAPTER.
> 
> I think this is the first chapter to do so, too. Haha, this one isn't as heavy as the others. In fact, I'd go as far as to say that it's the happiest one. There is still actual happy chapters to come, but this is just "away from the death and angst" happy lol. I really loved editing and writing this chapter, mostly because I love exploring the possibilities of Lexa and Costia as kids and her life growing up (*cough* Jason pls give us more Lexa feels for season three thanks *cough*) with Luna and Anya.
> 
> Some parts of the story that come up may be influenced by events in season three, but for the most part what I've written will stand alone to my own thoughts and concepts. I am nearly done the ending of this fic (which doesn't come for a very long time), but some things may change from my original plot. So far, I like what I've written but who knows what Clexa feel Jason will throw at us next, am I right?
> 
> I finally finished replying to the comments! If I missed yours, let me know and I'll go back! :) Honestly you guys are so amazing with all you've been saying about this fic, and I'd love to hear more if you want! As always, no pressure. I just love reading everything you guys have to say, whether positive or negative. Many thanks to you again. All of you guys are more than awesome for sticking through with me!
> 
> The chapter title/summary comes from the song "Promise" by Ben Howard.

 

**Bellamy**

 

When you wake up the next morning, Lincoln is gone and Octavia is laying next to you.

"O," you murmur, reaching over to shake her lightly, "Octavia, wake up."

"Is it morning already?" Your sister mutters softly, turning her head in your lap so she may face towards the burned out fire. You've set yourself up a bit further from the main hub of the village, mostly to avoid stares from the others. Octavia blinks her eyes open hazily and offers a sad smile.

"You always used to be the first one to get me up," she murmurs wistfully as she rises from your lap and sits. She stretches out her limbs and cracks her knuckles, sighing. You can see the unease in her shoulders. Despite everything, she's still a kid. Seventeen, no means younger than Clarke by a few months, but you're practically a senior in comparison. You're turning twenty-four in a few weeks, but she still seems like she's twelve.

"Remember when I had to feed you nutrition bars through the cracks?" You muse as you pull your knees to your chest. Octavia hazards a soft laugh as you both look up to the lightening blanket of sky. You've never really seen dawn before, not when things are lulled and the world has slowed to a halt.

"I hated those things," Octavia grunts, her nose wrinkling in distaste as she pretends to gag. "I'd rather eat my own shit."

"Always so subtle, little sister. Really," you mutter in disgust, shoving her shoulder lightly. She chuckles at your prudishness before she leans closer against your side. This is the first time in months in which you've been so close that things just felt right.

You sit in silence for awhile before you feel her arm loop in between your own. At first you tense, and she seems like she is about pull away but then you lace your fingers together and squeeze. You think back to the times when the drop ship first landed, where you'd looked out for her and only her. You think of Mount Weather, where you'd placed your hand over Clarke's own so that she may not be alone in her responsibility to save your friends. But you know, deep down, Clarke carries more than you do. Even though you know you wanted to alleviate the pain of that burden, you know that your intent was selfish. Your sister came before anyone else, and still, she will always come before anyone - even your friends.

You begin to understand Lexa a little better now.

"I was stupid, you know," Octavia whispers as her head leans against your shoulder. "When I told you I didn't need you."

"O-"

"No, listen. I always want to be taking care of myself, but I never knew how to. It was always you. I never should have gotten mad at you for what happened to Atom, or even when you hurt Lincoln. You were scared for me," she murmurs, her eyes closing as she sighs against your shoulder. You squeeze her hand tighter, letting her know that you forgive her, even when there is nothing to forgive. You made your mistakes, too.

"I caged you," you admit softly, glancing back up at the pale pink sky. "I locked you up down here like I'd done up there. I took away your life."

"Bell-"

"No, you listen this time," you smile as you turn to peck her forehead, "you come first, Octavia. I will always love you, not just because you're my responsibility but because you're my best friend. No one comes between us. It's always been me and you, and that will never change. After everything that's happened, it's made me realize that I've been a dick to you. It's time for me to change. I… I just want you to be happy, O. That's all I ever wanted."

"I don't care what anyone says," Octavia hums as she squeezes your arm, "you're the best brother, Bellamy. Always."

"I love you, kid." Your words are whispered and soft, with the tad crack of your voice. Octavia is quiet for a few moments, but you can feel the soft shake of her shoulders as she cries against you. So this time, you kiss her head again, maneuvering your arm so you can wrap it around her tighter. You pull her into your shield, keeping her safe and warm in the frigid morning air. Octavia nuzzles her head under your chin and presses herself closer.

"I love you too, big brother." Her voice is near, for the first time since you landed. You take a breath, but you can't hold the mask this time.

You never knew crying could feel so good.

 

**Lexa**

 

You have been in the forest for one week. Or, you _think_ it's a week.

You're thinner now, but you continue to trudge through the mossy undergrowth. You have no idea where you're going, but you can feel something tugging you to keep moving. At first you think it's the spirit of your _nomon_ , still lost to the woods and being chased by the warriors, but then you realize (after you stopped searching for her) that you're just lost. Your father used to tell you that being lost never happens. You find something at the end of every journey, even if that nothing doesn't present itself in something malleable and pliant. Something you can build, even if it starts as nothing.

You think your _nontu_ is stupid.

Stupid for thinking that the world is an endless question of _what if_. Stupid for thinking about second chances. Stupid for dying.

Your father is _dead_.

You want to sob, but you learned to mask the pain. You grip the hilt of your blade tighter now as you drudge your feet through the deepest ravine. Your bare feet nearly get stuck in the mud, but you will yourself to keep going. Your chest hurts and rattles with a debilitating cough, one that at night renders you unable to breathe. Yet, you push on. You will be strong because your _nontu_ was strong and he told you to fight.

(Your _nontu_ is dead.)

At last, you crumble to your tiny knees. You take a deep breath and curl into a ball on the ground. You still refuse to cry. Instead, you curl your legs to your chest and hold yourself closely, trying to preserve your warmth. You're lucky that it's early fall. You know that your fight would've been long over if it'd been winter. You curl the sword between your arms and nuzzle your face against the hilt like it is a stuffed plaything and you are a child.

You _are_ a child, though.

"Hey!" A voice chirps out as you feel your eyelids drooping shut. You hazard a cough, but don't move.

Again, the voice calls out a bit more impatiently. "Hey! Are you stupid? Why are you sleeping there?!"

You don't answer again, and instead close your eyes tightly and try not to cough again.

"For Spirit's sake, girl!" The voice hisses, nearer than before. "Get up, you fool! You're gonna die by _pauna_  if you don't move."

Frustrated this time that this person won't leave you alone, you blink open an eye and glare blurredly at another child. She's taller and probably older than you by a few summers, with eyes as blue as the sea and hair as golden as the sun. For a moment, you think you are lost to your delusions, from days gone without proper nutrition and dirty lake water. You think that you have finally ascended. Perhaps your _nontu_ is here, waiting to hold you again.

But he is dead. Gone. Left you alone.

(You are always alone.)

"Can you speak?" The girl asks you as she steps forward, obviously no care to your personal space. "Deaf? Mute? Blind? What are you?"

" _Shof op_ ," you growl at her, turning on your other side with annoyance. " _Bants, goufa_."

"Oh you don't speak English," the girl says pensively, not exactly with condescendence but instead curiosity. "I just assumed… you know, with your sword. I mean, you're a bit small and frail to be a warrior, but you have a weapon. Surely you should be able to speak English. Your parents must've-"

" _Ai nontu laik stedaunon_ ," you interrupt her coldly, refusing to show weakness. _Your back is already turned to her_ , you can hear your father chuckle in your ear, _you have already shown it._ The girl quietens ( _finally_ , you thank the Spirits, for her mouth is a nuisance) and for a moment you think she's left.

" _Ain sentaim_ ," she whispers after some time. Her voice is quiet, softer than the interrogating tone she'd used earlier. It causes you to roll to your side to see that her blue eyes are shimmering with understanding and a lingering hint of sadness. You shift a little so you can sit up against a tree.

" _Yu nomon_?" You ask, cocking your head. At the mention of her mother, she brightens instantly and nods, extending her hand out to you. For a moment you're wary, because this girl had been insulting you a few minutes ago, and now she demands your hand. Her expression softens, however, and you somehow feel a tug to take her hand and let her lead you. Gulping down your fear, you clutch your blade in one fist and take her hand with your own.

"Come," she murmurs gently, a soft smile starting to play at her lips when she feels your palm in hers, "I will take you to her."

"Yes," you say in return. She rolls her eyes and chuckles at your attempt at English. Usually when people laugh, you'd burst out in anger, demanding an apology or threaten them with the prospect of your _nontu_ going after them because he's the strongest warrior in your village.

(He _was_ the strongest.)

This mysterious girl drags you over logs and muddy paths until you are faced with the most gorgeous river. A waterfall cascades over the edge, leaving a brilliant shimmer on the lake below. You grin at the sight for a moment, finding yourself lost in the beauty, in the softness of this stranger's hand and the warmth of her smile as she watches you take in the scenery. For in that brief moment, you are free from death, from pain, from being lost.

You feel _found_.

"Costia!" An older voice booms out, startling you. Immediately, you grip for your blade and whimper when you can't lift it. The girl's hold on your hand intensifies and she offers you a calming smile before nodding in assurance. She does not speak but her eyes carry a conversation you fully understand.

 _You are safe_ , she says as she dips her head again, _I will protect you._

"Costia!" An older woman who looks identical to the girl standing beside you, bare for her eyes. You look up to see the sun in her gaze, her depths a honeyed yellow that reminds you of all the evening walks you'd take with your parents to watch the sunset. Her frame is lithe but tall. She looks like a tree, rooted to the Earth and extending outwards into infinity. She seems like a queen, and you almost feel obliged to bow before her.

"Mother!" The girl says as she bounds forward, letting go of your hand to wrap her arms around her mother's waist. You look to your empty palm, suddenly feeling the ache wrack through your chest. You want that warmth back, even if she was too loud and her strength outmatched your own.

Barely a second without contact and you already miss her.

"I found this girl in the woods," the girl announces proudly, like you're a hunted animal and she is your killer. "She can't speak English."

"I can," you chuck the words out in a poor displacement. You don't sound confident at all. Sickly, tired, weak - yes, but confident? Not a chance. The older woman perks a brow at your stubborn resistance, and you can't help but lower your head with the inquisitive glance she sends your way.

"Your name, child?" She asks sweetly, grazing her hand over her daughter's shoulder. You fidget on the spot, holding your sword tighter. A part of you doesn't want to tell her, to run back into the safety of the woods chasing the foolish thought of finding your parents and being normal again. But instead, you suck in a deep breath, stick out your chest (as best you can without aching to cough), and nod your head up proudly.

"Aleksandria," you tell her, though your voice grows hoarse when you hear your father's voice in your head again. " _Ai laik kom… Trikru._ "

(Why did he have to leave?)

"You are from the Woods Clan, young Aleksandria?" The woman questions again, her voice tight. You shiver at how she looks you over, with gentle eyes that remind you of your _nomon_ before she'd left. You gulp again and try your best not to shiver in fear. You are not really from the trees, but you have to be if you want to survive. Your home is long forgotten now, a spec in your memory. You do not have a home, but you will always have the forest.

"Her father is dead too," Costia says without any sense of pity. It seems like ordinal information as it leaves her lips. "I think she was alone."

" _Sha_ ," you answer firmly, " _ai nomon don gon._ " 

"Where?" The older woman questions, her eyes still not leaving yours. You take a sharp breath.

Where _is_ your mother?

When you can't answer, you feel arms wrapping around your shoulders. You look up through blurry eyes, not knowing that you'd started crying along the way. The woman offers you a kindly smile before she kneels, gently running her hand up and down your arms to calm your shaking. Costia watches from behind her mother's back, her bright blue eyes sending you as much warmth and support as a child of her stature may offer. You still shiver, though. You still cry and hurt because the pain of losing your parents is still burning inside your chest too hot to hold your sickness at bay.

You are fighting many battles and you are a _child_.

"Sorry," you whisper pathetically as the woman coos in a soothing tone. You curse yourself for being weak, so unlike your father. You grit your teeth and try to will the tears away from your eyes, to beg them for respite, but nothing comes from your nonsensical pleading. They only come out faster. 

You (don't) try to fight the flutter of relief when she hugs you.

You (don't) try to fight how Costia's smile makes you feel safe.

You (don't) try to fight when they take you back to their clan and tell you that you're home.

When she tells you her name is Luna, that while she is not your _nomon_ , she's willing to take you in, you (don't) try to not let happiness in.

(Maybe your father isn't so stupid after all.)

 

**Clarke**

 

You watch Lexa's body after Dashiq leaves to tend to a few more people in the village in the morning.

Nearly all of her frame is wrapped in bandages, some spotted with blood and others with nothing. The giant one padded down her middle is steadily red, but it doesn't seem to have worsened since having stitched her up. Mostly, you think this a dream. No one could've survived such ordeals but then you remember that this is Commander Lexa, the _Heda_ of all Hedas - she is a God to her people, immortal and undying, always. She does not bleed, does not falter, does not die. You wonder if any of them have ever thought of her as a girl, or as a person with a name not a title.

_Sometimes we forget that we are led by a child._

You know Dashiq sees her as a child. Luna did. Costia most definitely, maybe Indra and even Gustus, too. You know that Anya, despite her grumpiness and brash attitude, must've cared for the girl as much as you do. There had been something in her voice ( _the Commander was my second_ , she'd breathed, like she'd been trapped in a memory) as she told you she could request an audience. But when you think about it, that group is so small it makes it seem practically like nothing. Gustus had failed her. Anya had died at your people's hands despite your lie. Luna, killed by her own adopted daughter. Costia, a cruel reminder that war takes no mercy. Indra, slain so the Commander may live and breathe and bring peace again.

The Commander will live - as she always will - but you ask yourself, how is _Lexa_ alive?

Lexa, the girl that resides within the shadows of her past decisions. Lexa, the girl that is forced to wear a mask over her heart to protect her people, to stow away her emotions for the sake of appearing strong. Lexa, the girl with the forest in her eyes, a forest that you know must've been full of life and hope and innocence once. Lexa, the girl who gives and gives and never stops giving, with her compensation being the pain of her nation. Lexa, the girl who had been so angered over the loss of her love that she'd slain five hundred warriors in need for blood. Lexa, who was willing to die so her people, and your people - _you_ \- would live to fight another day. Lexa, who lost everyone who ever knew her as a girl within two hours because tradition demanded it.

Lexa - beautiful, pure, broken, scarred, haunted Lexa - how is _she_ alive?

You watch her now, her face relaxed in the throes of sleep, so innocent and unlike the ravenous woman who'd sought the safety of her people over yours and then paid the price in full. A price that had been sent by you, maybe Bellamy, maybe the Queen, and maybe a bit in her own fault. She'd paid for it in complete. Maybe more than complete, as you grimace, looking pitifully to the sodden bandage again. It's not yours to bear, but you still hurt so badly.

You take the time to look at her body once more, to seek out her old scars that are visible to you through the bandages. They are a river of lines, some bubbled and angry looking, while others are soft and small. Her entire body is like a map, showing the dips and rises like she herself _is_ the Earth. She has valleys and gorges where her heart is buried deep down. She has rises and curves from scars healed wrong. Her nose is slightly bent out of shape from being broken one too many times. Her chest is marred with kill scars that act like craters in her skin. She is death, life, and hope all in one.

Lexa whimpers something in her sleep, her bottom lip trembling. You swallow thickly as you reach upwards and palm at her forehead calmly. She eases with your touch, and you try to ignore how her body temperature is beginning to increase. You rake your eyes up and down her bandaged frame, searching for the potential injury that could be causing an infection. You go to check when she whimpers again, a sound that breaks your heart.

"Ssh," you whisper softly, rubbing the pad of your thumb over her cut brow with light strokes. "You're okay, Lexa. You're safe."

You reach down for her hand and, while being mindful of the deep slashes on her palm, hold it gently in your own.

But something feels… off. Glancing down, you look to her hand in confusion. It's only then that you realize that her pinky finger on her right hand is but a stump, and a nasty scar juts up from the tip of it to the mid-point of her bandaged forearm. Two deep holes pucker around the open skin of her wrist and you wonder how she could've got such a mark. It is then that you make a startling understanding. Letting go of her hand (and trying to ignore the faint mewl that leaves Lexa's slumbering state), you rise from your seat and go over to where Lexa's clothes are folded, still covered in blood and dirt. You ignore the stench that radiates off the pile before you frantically scrummage through it for what you seek. 

Finally, you pull out her right wrist wrap that always reminded you more of a gauntlet than anything else. The metal linings made you think of a skeleton hand, not a glove. But, when you examine it closely, it is exactly what you'd jokingly presumed it to be. Gasping, you feel your heart drop when you see the metal extension for her finger, one that would make it so no one would know half of it is gone. You glance back at Lexa, still unconscious and so vulnerable, and you feel your eyes water for the fifteenth time that day. You carry the wrap back with you and sit, staring at it endlessly. You wonder who crafted it, or if she'd crafted it herself without anyone else's knowledge.

You run your finger over the metal casing and allow yourself to ponder if Lexa has insecurities, too.

"She's not gonna be up for awhile," you hear Octavia's voice in the background. You flinch and turn to glare at her, but she soon realizes her choice of wording and blushes, throwing her hands up defensively. You lower your aggressive glare and instead sigh tiredly, glancing back at Lexa. 

"You should sleep, Clarke," Octavia tells you as she takes a seat on the other end of Lexa's side. "I know you've been up all day." Then, with a characteristic Octavia smirk, she crinkles her nose and tells you, "maybe a bath would do you good, too. You kinda reek."

She adds the last bit with a light-hearted tone, trying to make you laugh. But you can't laugh, not in front of the woman you hate but also so desperately need to be around. You can't say that you love her yet, because saying it (or even thinking it) would make it real and you can't have that. Not while she's still on the brink of death, on the border between being real or a ghost. You told her before the siege that you weren't ready to be with anyone, and even while she could be dying in front of you, shallowly taking in her last lonely breaths, you know you're _still_ not ready for anyone, not even her.

"I'll sleep when she wakes up," you murmur instead, setting her wrap on the table beside you. "I need to make sure she's okay."

"Dashiq is a good healer," Octavia comments, trying to push you. "I don't think a few winks would kill you."

You tense again and you see her grit her teeth and shake her head. "Sorry," is birthed from her lips almost immediately, but you do not have the energy to fight with her. Octavia is younger than you by a year, but she feels like a child. She does not wear your burdens, is not chained to the Earth like you and Lexa. She has her own demons, but they are not as overbearingly haunting like yours. For a moment, you wish that she could feel your pain.

 _You knew about the missile_ , she'd told you. _You knew and you let us all burn._

 _The missile that almost killed the closest thing I had to a mother,_ she didn't say, _the only one who wanted to take a chance on_ me _._

"I told you," you say instead as you lean back and continue watching Lexa, "I am not leaving until she wakes up, until she is okay."

She might never be okay, but maybe you won't either. You're not a ruthless war legend, but you've killed and you've felled the one enemy that terrorized Lexa's people - Octavia's people - for centuries. You are your own demon, and it makes you chuckle in a sad, rather sadistic way. You turn back to watching Lexa so you can ward off your thoughts. Every so often, her eyelids contort and she lets out another agonizing set of whimpers, but she never wakes. She twitches now and then, lost in the realm of her unconscious state. For all you know, she could be dreaming or in a coma. About to recover or closer to death. It's hard to tell. You look up to see Octavia glancing at the once mighty Commander with a level of shock. It ignites almost a protective state in you (not jealousy - no, you can't be _jealous_ ) and you lean forward, grunting to get her attention. She blushes and rubs the back of her head.

"Sorry," she says again, flustered, "it's just… it's hard to see her like this."

"You don't like her," you say flatly, "why are you here?" Octavia's innocent ogling is cut away and replaced by a steely frown.

"Neither do you," she retaliates the words you already knew were coming. "She betrayed you. Shouldn't it be _you_ asking why _you're_ here?"

"I told you already," you growl, putting up walls again. "I signed a blood oath. Our people need her."

You almost want to laugh at how much Lexa's had an impact on you, but the sound is stuck in your heart where she's still holding, gripping, trying to drag you down in the oblivion in which she now resides. You shake your head and repeat, " _I_ need her for this coalition to work, Octavia. Her power would protect our people, and with winter on its way, we need all the help we can get. She's important because she's the only one who can convince the others to not bring us harm." Octavia mulls over your words in silence, her eyes darting to the bandage on your own palm from Lexa's blade.

"Do you regret it?" She asks you, a little hollow and maybe a bit sad. You glance up and shake your head.

"I told you, we need the coalition to-" 

"Not that," Octavia stops you softly, wincing when you glare with impatience, "I mean pulling the lever. Do you regret doing it?"

It's a loaded question, one you're not sure you have a response for. You spent three months wandering aimlessly in a forest, fighting panthers and spearing fish, to find some answer. You regret many things, but you can't be certain if you regret pulling the lever and killing all those people. You think back to when you'd hid news of the missile from your people and how many died, burned alive because you had to stay quiet. You almost killed your mother and Kane, Octavia and Indra. You killed Lexa's sister, one who she never spoke of or took the time to tell you about. Octavia is patient and for some reason, you take comfort in the gentle gaze she sets upon you. It almost seems that the three months that'd passed have changed her, too. 

"I don't know," you tell her honestly, because you don't. "When she wakes up, I'll find out."

"I know why she left," Octavia says after you're both quiet again. "Why _Heda_ chose her people over us."

You quirk your brow at the use of her formal title, but Octavia's glance pleads for you to ignore it and so you do. You see her struggling to contain her emotions with the sight of the beaten down Commander. You can see flickers of Indra pushing through, encouraging Octavia to stay strong and true. You wonder how she must've felt to have watched her mentor die at the hands of her Commander. You lick your lips and lean back in the seat once more, stealing another glance at the unconscious Commander. You look at the bandages again and you want to cry, but you have no tears left. 

"Yeah," you mutter in response, quiet and defeated, "I do, too."

 

**Raven**

 

You're limping around Arkadia, searching for more work when Kane comes through the gates.

"Any news?" You hear Abby ask as she meets him at the front with a hand to his shoulder. He shakes his head and you bitterly look away. It's been three months, and all your friends are gone. You never really cared for Echo, but you miss Bellamy and Octavia and even Lincoln. Somewhere deep down, you miss Clarke, too, but you won't dare voice that opinion. You just hobble back to some abandoned piece of tech that Wick had left behind and try to fiddle with it. You have to divert your mind, or at least that's what Abby said when she cleared you for release this morning on the condition you'd stay under her sight at all times. You refuse to think of Clarke's mother of your own. You refuse to let her into your heart so she can just leave, too.

(But Abby stays, night after night, holding your hand as you cry yourself to sleep.)

You stop your fiddling and take a breath. Somedays it doesn't feel so bad, the pain. You can get by with walking with your brace and crutch without feeling that lowly ache in your hip. Somedays, you can ignore the burn and fake a smile for Wick as he frets over you. Somedays, you pretend that the world isn't moving and you're constantly static and stuck in one position all the time. Somedays, you don't feel so heavy on the inside.

Today is not one of those days.

_You are not alone, Raven._

The panic settles back in, like a raging fire inside your chest. You blink back tears when your breath leaves quicker than it comes in. You search around with wild eyes, trying to anticipate where your visions will strike this time. But, no one is there. Not Clarke or Lexa. No Finn, Bellamy, or even Octavia. You furrow your brow as you start to feel your skin itching, your nails clawing at your pant-leg in desperation to get at the scars underneath. You want to rip them open and bleed until your heart stops, until the pain is but a numbing throb at the back of your mind. Until you are at peace.

"Raven," Abby murmurs when she sees you limping towards her. You don't know when you'd started limping - moving, even - but you are practically running towards her. The tears are falling down your cheeks faster than you could ever compute. You can spot Jasper watching you, leaned up against a truck with a knowing glance in his haunted, broken eyes. He doesn't look any better than you do, but he's still alive, isn't he?

He lost Maya. You lost Finn. Clarke lost her father. Abby lost her daughter. 

"I don't feel good," you tell Abby as she approaches you, arms outstretched and open, waiting for you to collapse inside. Usually you turn her away in a blind fit of rage. The first time earned you a slap, but the next few times Abby hugged you and cried, telling you sweet nothings until you could breathe again without feeling like the world was about to crash down upon your shoulders. The voices go away when Abby's voice reels you in.

Abby is safety. Abby is protection. Abby is the eye in your constant storm.

"Please," you beg her as you cry harder, "please, I just need to stop hurting."

Abby doesn't say anything, and she doesn't have to. She swoops you into a bear hug that lasts too long for you to care. She drags you back into the Ark, to where your cabin lies. She situates you on your bed and adjusts your blanket and pillow. Her voice lulls you as she settles in at your side, wrapping a long arm around your shoulder before pulling you into her chest. You lay your head above her left breast, allowing the cynical, once childish part of your brain to joke about how you're lying on a bed with your head on your best friend's (you refuse to call her your _ex_ -best friend, not yet) mother's chest. 

For the first time in months, you let out a dry laugh.

Abby looks down at you, concerned at first. She expects the laughter to taper off into delirious sobbing like it usually does on the days your lost friends haunt you the hardest. But you fool the both of you when the chuckle ends just as it had begun. You don't feel heavy. You don't feel plagued by visions or thoughts of wanting to end your life because of decisions that didn't involve you, plans that you couldn't control, or fate that you couldn't change.

"You will get better," Abby murmurs to you instead, a ghost of a smile playing at her lips when she notices you've calmed without the need of a sedative. You're both aware that you're still incredibly broken and frayed a little too harshly around the edges, but you're not thrashing. 

You are fighting, and damn you if you missed the adrenalin rush that came with having a _purpose_.

"Now what?" You ask Abby, not willing to give up your position against her body. The older woman hums, the rumble soothing to your aching bones. You settle further into her, trying to stay awake as her hands, gentle and steady like always, stroke down the bumps in your spine calmingly. She kisses your forehead and you find yourself pushing aside the pain for another day. You will take this ceasefire and you will cherish it. Abby sighs and hums.

"Now we take baby steps," she murmurs gently, squeezing your arm. "We get through this, together."

 _You are not alone, Raven_ , she tells you silently as you drift off to sleep. 

When you wake up, she is there and you cry with pure joy when you realize you did not dream of death that night.

 

**Lincoln**

 

You watch as Octavia returns to Dashiq's tent in the evening and manages to pull an exhausted Clarke out of the hut. Her arms are looped around Clarke's middle and you can hear her scolding the older woman for not taking proper care of herself. You can see that she's headed for the small hot spring on the outer wall of the city. As soon as she's out of sight, you find yourself walking in the direction of Lexa's tent. 

Just as you enter, Dashiq is at the mouth of the tarp, a stoic expression on his face. You set your jaw as he moves his shoulder so you may pass and glance upon the Commander. He places his hand upon your forearm, giving you a faint squeeze of silent support before he leaves the tent. You pause for a moment, your gaze glued to the ground as you fight the urge to allow your emotions wash over you in a tidal wave. You grit your teeth and will yourself to be strong. Now is not a time to falter, and you know that if the situation were flipped, she would never waver.

So you take a breath, steel yourself, and walk over to her bedside.

Lexa looks small upon the bed, her body encapsulated in bandages that range from her head to her chest, and you can only imagine that the continue under the furs around her waist. You sink into the chair at her side and stare at her sleeping face, smiling sadly when you make out the innocence and peace on her relaxed visage. But, you can see under the freshly cleaned skin, the various lines that have come from bearing her weight for so long. The youthful and endearingly stubborn Lexa you once knew as a child is gone, wiped out by the girl with a million ghosts and infinite scars. 

"You were right," you whisper to her unconscious body, "back at _Azgeda_. When you said that you kept them safe. I didn't listen to you."

Lexa's chest rises and falls, but she does not answer. 

"I hit you," you croak as the tears finally break to the surface of your eyes. You curse yourself for being weak. You wanted to hold it all inside and be numb, emotionless and heartless like she'd called herself so many times. You look to your hands in frustration and agony. "I _hit_ you, nearly choked you to death. I slammed you against the wall and held you there like some puppet. And the worst part is you _let_ me. Why did you let me hurt you?!"

Lexa's breath hitches, and for a moment you think she can hear you. If she were awake, she'd tell you that it was her responsibility, to bear the weight so no one else would have to, that she deserved your pain. You knew exactly what she'd done when she'd let you insult her. She'd opened up her chest and her arms, and despite being so damned broken, accepted every sliver of insecurity and shard of anger you'd had at yourself. She let you place your burdens inside your chest, like the keeper of your heart that she's always been for you. Instead of taking some of her pain, you gave her your own.

What kind of _brother_ are you?

_I am glad that you shall be here to witness the repercussions of my mistake._

"I'm sorry," you whisper as you bow your head in shame. "I'm sorry that I ever doubted you. I'm sorry that I ever questioned you when I'd never understand. I'm sorry that you had to bring and end to their lives in that ring. I'm sorry that I let the Queen have her way and hurt you the way she did. I'm sorry for letting you always take the fall, even when you know others are responsible." You glance upwards to see her face still lax and even.

You think back to the time when you and her went hunting together for the first time with Costia. You'd wanted to rebel against Indra, to prove to her that not every kill had to be so ruthless when gathering food. She'd reluctantly slipped away from training with Anya and managed to somehow rope Costia into coming. Mostly it was because you both knew that Costia was the best tracker and hunter of your village. Her skills impressed Anya and Indra as well, and for some strange reason, no one ever had the heart to pick a fight with her. Lexa always used to blame it on her charm.

It was in that forest that you three found a horde of Reapers. 

You and Costia were both around sixteen, and Lexa was barely hitting thirteen. You didn't want to kill them, because somewhere in your soft heart, you thought that you could save them. You fought them with the girls, but there were too many. Lexa told you to run and take Costia, to get Anya and Indra for reinforcements, but you'd been reluctant. You'd been scared, even though you'd never admitted it to her. You stood and hesitated when one Reaper from afar drew back his arrow and sliced it in your direction. You'd been knocked down and weaponless. Your fight was to be over.

If it hadn't been for Lexa.

The arrow lodged itself into her thigh as she jumped in front of your downed body. Costia's quick reflexes had acted and she took out the beast. The others retreated back to the Mountain, leaving you alone in the forest. You remember sitting in shock as Lexa had stood to her feet and extended her hand. The thirteen year old girl who refused to cry at the fiery pain in her leg, held out her hand to you. You recall taking it shakily. She never demanded an apology, nor did she scream at you for your hesitation. Instead, she'd patted your shoulder almost wisely and offered you a sad smile.

 _Ai gaf wich em pace_ , she'd told you, _but it is not for me. I am to be Heda._ You had gone to protest, but then she'd smiled again, pure and true.

Tears had glistened in her eyes as she whispered to you, _but that does not mean the same for you, bro._

That night, she'd lied about the arrow being a hunting accident to Anya, who scolded her for being foolish. The entire time, she remained stoic and apologetic, assuring her mentor that it would never happen again. Costia had sat by your side, but even she wasn't angry with you. When you'd glanced over at the girl who stole your sister's heart, you'd seen the glinting sadness wavering off those gorgeous ocean blues. Her hands had shook when you held them in yours. Lexa was given ten lashes for lying to Anya, but she never wavered under each slash of the whip against her bare back.

 _I wish she'd never been chosen_ , Costia had told you with a faint admission of defeat, _her heart will suffer greatly._

You wish you could've argued against her, but even now, you know that she'd spoken true.

"Please," you beg as you reach down for one of her slashed hands. You hold it delicately in your hand, your chest rattling as a sob bursts from your lips. You hang your head over her own and cry for her, despite the guilt that threatens to drown you. You raise her hand and kiss her knuckles. " _Beja, Leksa, ai sis. Yu gonplei no ste odon, kom nau_. I am so sorry, Lexa. I never wanted this for you. I… I should've been there, I should've protected you like you've always protected me. I owe you everything, sister. I need you to hang in there, for me, for Costia and Luna, for Indra, Anya, Gustus - for Clarke. Please."

You know your mind is in a hazed state, but you swear you feel her hand squeeze yours lightly in response.

"Please," you whisper as you reach down to lay a gentle kiss to her forehead, "do not leave me yet. _Ai hod yu in, Leksa_."

 

**Octavia**

 

"I haven't bathed in three months," Clarke sighs as her body slinks into the steaming pool of water. You keep your legs dipped in, but you don't feel the need to join her. You're really here just to make sure she doesn't slip away (not that she would, but in another sense, maybe). For the first time in the past few days since trekking through the forest with an injured and dying Commander, Clarke Griffin lets out a flimsy smile when she closes her eyes.

"Yeah, you smelled terrible," you say in a light jest. Clarke peeks an eye open over at you, but her gaze is a bit hazy and lost. You sigh and reach down, rolling up your pants so you can sit on a rock closer to her. You make out a few new scars and wounds on her body through the shimmering water, but you avert your gaze when you catch Clarke staring in your direction. You clear your throat and look up at the sky, now dimming again.

"You've grown up," Clarke murmurs after a moment spent in blissful silence. You shiver at the words, at how soft and reverent they are as they come from your lips. You remember the endless hate you'd given her when she came back through the tunnels to help you take another chance at taking down the Mountain. You flash back to before then, when you'd pinned the death of TonDC and Finn on her shoulders - when you told her to be a better leader when she'd never done any of this before. You clench your jaw when you let her words wash over you as you'd remembered them that night.

_I'm doing the best I can._

"I'm sorry," you whisper back, your voice struggling to keep the shake out of the soft tone, "about what I did and said to you. Back on the Mountain and at TonDC. I… I never wanted you to feel like you were useless. I just didn't understand anything back then, and I know that's not an excuse but-"

"Octavia," Clarke hums as she slides further into the river so her hair now bounces up to frame her face, "I'm over it."

"Clarke," you protest, rising to your feet. You take to pacing lightly in the water, tears grazing your eyes as you clench your fists. "I blamed you for so many months. I thought that you were the reason that Indra had to let me go from the Woods Clan. I mean, I'd just found a place in which people wanted me to exist. Indra… fuck, Clarke, she was like the mother I never had but always needed. She didn't just mentor me, she respected me. I know that she was a grump at times, yeah, but aren't all Grounders? I mean, she put me in charge of her people and look at what I did! I _killed_ her!"

"You saved her at TonDC," Clarke says as she closes her eyes again, "you made her proud, O. I'm sorry she's gone."

"No!" You say suddenly, stopping in your frantic pacing to stare at her with a heartbreaking expression. Inside your chest, your heart hammers rapidly against your ribs. Clarke opens her eyes and stares at you intently. It's then that you realize just how much _she's_ aged in the three month absence. You gulp down your emotions so you can tell her, "no, Clarke. You're not apologizing anymore. You did the right thing. You killed people, but you did the right thing. Those Mountain Men would've bled all of us dry if we hadn't stopped them. Lexa made the right decision to face the Queen even when we practically dragged her there as our captive. You both are constantly making the hard decision and expect nothing in return. It has to stop."

"Octavia, what is that you want?" Clarke asks as she sits up slightly, her hair pooling down to cover her breasts in the water. Her gaze is smouldering, like she is both fearful and confused as to what you're talking about. You clear your throat and walk over to her, settling back down on the rock.

"Forgiveness," you breathe out as a tear slides down your cheek. "I am asking for your forgiveness."

"Octavia," Clarke croaks hoarsely as you reach out and take her hands. You're both starting to cry now as you squeeze her fingers. 

"I don't want you to face this alone," you tell her, trying to keep your voice steady, "I don't want you to hurt alone anymore. I know what it feels like to be alone without a choice, Clarke. I know that everyone else thinks that you chose to leave, but I know now that you had to. What you did haunts you and I am so sorry, Clarke. I am sorry that you had to do that to all those people. I am sorry that you aren't going to ever sleep without them plaguing you. I am sorry that Lexa left you at the Mountain and that we very nearly got her killed because we wanted revenge for what she did to us. I am so, so sorry."

At first, Clarke doesn't speak. You feel your heart stop in the base of your throat when her eyes glaze, but then she breaks. Clarke sobs, letting out all the pain that she has harboured in the past months. She cries, loud and bloodcurdling as her hands begin to shake. You only find yourself submerged in the water, despite your clothes. You wrap your arms around her, trying to ignore how her skin is cracked under your touch even though she is wet. She ducks her head into your shoulder and you place one palm at the base of her neck, steadying her, and the other in the small of her bare back.

"You don't have to give it to us," you whisper softly, blinking back your own tears, "not until you're ready, Clarke. We will wait."

"I can't lose her," Clarke sniffs against your shoulder, "I… I can't think of anything past losing her, O."

"We won't let her die," you tell her bravely, setting your jaw. "She's the fucking Commander for God's sake. She can't die from a heroic duel. That arrogant fucker needs to bask in her victory first." You almost think that you've gone too far, but then Clarke does something you never thought she'd do.

Clarke chuckles.

It's a pained, greatly forced effort, but she _chuckles_. You let out a breath you didn't know you'd been holding and you can't help but find yourself chuckling with her. In that moment, as she presses closer to you, laughing with you like you're children and not war-torn soldiers, time itself freezes. The girl laying on a cot fighting for her life yards away does not exist. The three hundred dead from the Mountain do not flash through your mind. Finn is not dead on a tree with Clarke's hand covered in his blood. Wells is alive and laughing at the two of you as you attempt to make a shelter.

The world, this Earth, does not carry pain in this moment.

Clarke's fingers are pressed into your jacket, gripping you tightly as she eases down from her laughter. The freeze of time is gone when her harsh chuckles turn into soft sobs and she's crying again. Your heart breaks in your chest, because happiness is fleeting it seems. You wrap your arms around her shoulders and hold her as tightly as you can. You keep your hold protective and strong as she lets out another wave of cries. You keep her steady in the water, calmly humming in her ear so that she may expel whatever demons chase her for the time being. You allow yourself to carry the burden for once. You kiss Clarke's head and rub her back, not even caring that she's stark naked against you or that you're soaked to the bone.

"Thank you," Clarke says after sometime, when her cries have eased into faint hiccups. "I'm sor-"

"No," you whisper gently, stroking her ratty hair. "You've had your fair share of apologies. Let us take it now, Clarke."

"You've grown up," Clarke chuckles again, wiping a tear from her face as she relaxes against you. 

This time, the words don't make you shudder, but smile.

"We all have," you murmur back, kissing her crown again, "I guess being on the ground does that. Must be something in the air."

Clarke laughs again, a bit quieter and more subdued than before, but it's a laugh. You smile and tug on her forearms, silently letting her know that unless she wants to prune in the water, you should both get out. Clarke sighs and nods reluctantly, allowing you to help her out. She's lost massive amounts of weight and muscle since travelling alone. You grab at the towel and wrap it around her shoulders before squeezing her in for another hug. She tries to mutter something about you being wet too, but you laugh and shake it off as you hand her a fresh set of clothes.

After she's finished changing, you drag her over to the fire where Bellamy is sitting. Your brother rises, but Clarke's head swivels to Lexa's tent. Her fingers itch to walk over there, but you reach down and hold her hand before she can move. She tenses and glances at your knowing expression. Bellamy offers her a soft smile, one that is filled with nothing but love and admiration. Before either of you can speak, a soft grunt interrupts.

" _Skaï prisa_ ," Dashiq's rumbling voice says as he holds out a pot with one hand and an empty bowl with another. "Rest. Lincoln is with her."

"Lincoln's not a healer," Clarke tries to protest as Dashiq fills a bowl with a delicious smelling stew. Dashiq hands it to her with a soft smile, giving her an assuring nod. Clarke looks at the food and you can see the raw hunger in her eyes, but there's also the conflicting will to fight him and go to Lexa.

"Lincoln's also her _brother_ ," you tell her as you ease her to sit on the log. "She's not going anywhere tonight, right Dashiq?"

The man nods, though you catch the wavering expression in his dark eyes. Luckily, Clarke is starting down at her bowl and doesn't catch the fleeting glance. You swallow the anxiety and instead reach for a spoon in Dashiq's stack of bowls and hand it to Clarke. You give her a soft smile before pecking her head. She still looks reluctant, but when her stomach growls, she sighs and acquiesces to your forced hand. She slinks down to the log and starts to eat, trying to hide her grin when she tastes proper food for the first time in three months. Dashiq smiles before nodding gratefully at you.

Without a further word, he leaves to serve food to the other villagers. You notice Bellamy sitting next to Clarke, not being overly protective but not aversive in the same. He gives Clarke the perfect amount of space as they begin to have a small conversation. Clarke's face doesn't look so dreary and dark when Bellamy starts to talk about something back on the Ark. Usually those memories are tough on all of you, but today they serve as milestones for how far you've all come in this journey. Clarke smiles faintly at his words as she continues to eat and rest against the log, drawing heat from the fire.

Satisfied that Clarke is in good hands, you set off to find some dry clothes. You change out of the eye of others before you return back to the campfire. It's then that you see that Clarke is curled up against Bellamy's side, her fingers pressed into his shirt and her head on his shoulder. She's snoring slightly, but that doesn't disturb your also slumbering brother. The two of them look oddly cute together, you remark as you stare at them. But you know that no matter how heavily Clarke tries to deny herself of feeling love for Lexa, it burns brighter than any connection she's had. You smile again before nodding, turning away to walk in the direction of the tent where Lexa rests. You peel back the tarp and peer inside with a soft sigh.

Lincoln is sitting on the chair, his head next to Lexa's own as his hand grips hers lightly. They're both sleeping, but in this moment, they look like children. You wonder what their life would've been like for them when they had been kids. You hear Lexa whimper and your gaze nods up. For a second, her eyes blink halfway open in a glazed, pained expression. Her pupils are blown fully, her irises just a shell around the black circles. Your eyes widen and you go to call for Dashiq, but Lincoln's fingers squeeze her hand lightly at the next sharp gasp that leaves the Commander's chapped lips. Lexa's eyes slowly drift back shut when Lincoln hums soothingly in his sleep, allowing her mewls to slip into gentle snores. You let yourself smile in relief as your boyfriend shifts so that he can press his chest to her shoulder. You know in the morning he will be sore, but you can't bare to wake him up.

So instead, you reach for a blanket and drape it over him gently.

" _Ai hod yu in_ ," you whisper softly into his ear before pecking his shoulder. "Sleep well, _hodnes_."

Lincoln hums again as an answer, but you know he's deep in sleep. You pull back from him and glance over to a sleeping Lexa. You walk over to the other side of the bed before leaning over. Your hands reach down and slowly find her other hand. You aren't close with the Commander. Hell, at one point, she'd ordered you to die. But you knew that of all the people, Indra included, she'd been proud of you. It'd been in the way she watched you dig out the bodies in TonDC, or cry her name as she led you to the Mountain by Clarke's side. She had respect for you; it'd burned in those forest green eyes like a raging pyre.

"Wake up soon," you whisper into her ear as you swallow thickly, "we're all waiting for you, Heda."

You hesitate a moment before you lean down and peck her forehead. She whimpers again in her sleep but you shush her quietly. Her skin is warm against your lips, and you know with a sinking feeling in your chest that this battle is about to _begin_ , not end. Lexa's fight might have been over physically, but her body still needed to recover and find strength. As you look at her now, all cut up and broken in places you didn't even know existed, you don't know if she will ever fully recover, if she will be able to wield a sword, grip a bow, or even stand on her own. But, it does not matter.

You just need her to _live_ again.

"You have something worth fighting for," you tell her firmly as you think of Clarke, "so now is not the time to yield. _Ste yuj, Heda._ "

You allow the words to hover in the air before you retreat back to the fire so you too, can rest.

 

**Lexa**

 

Costia frustrates you.

You're watching her, as she strings her bow with near perfection while you're still struggling with your own. Grumbling, you pout and shove the damned thing away, annoyed that she has such successes and you do not. In all honesty, you don't really know what to think of these _Floukru_ , but they are too soft for your liking. Your father probably would have laughed at their inability to have any sort of backbone. Luna is a calm leader, one blessed with youth and happiness. She looks like a walking Empress amongst her people, something that even you find a bit fascinating (though you try not to). Dashiq is a funny man, but you have no interest for healing anymore (after you saw your father die, healing became a distant thought), so the only time you ever see him is amongst your strifes with other children in the village. Something that you find yourself doing a bit too often for his liking. Or Luna's and Costia's own, for that matter. Dashiq is always patching you up for something or other, but he never scolds you like some of the other healers.

He calls you  _goufa_  and  _branwada_  instead, in a way that reminds you of your father.

(But it doesn't take away that your father is dead and you still dream of fire and arrows and _death_.)

Dashiq is gentle but giant, with hands big enough to probably wrap around your entire body if he so desired. You've managed to gain a bit of your weight back since having been found a year ago in the forest by your new _nomon_ but you are still small by the average child's build. Most of the warriors in the village doubt your abilities, and the children mock you for your size. In response to their teasing, Dashiq had fed you special powdered drinks that tasted like the inside of a dunny. He would laugh and tease you about your weak stomach and picky taste. In the end, his vile concoction worked and you'd put on a bit more lean muscle. You chose to spar with him from the start. He called you the English word _keen_ , but you still don't understand that meaning of the expression. After each fight, you'd chase him through the forest with your sword dragging behind you, demanding for more and telling him only a coward retreats, but he'd find a way to swoop you up into his arms and carry you on his shoulders like _pauna_ herself.

Even now, you swear you can see the world from the tops of his shoulders.

Costia gets along well with the healer, too. Unfortunately for you, Dashiq had been there since she was born, while you've only known the man for a year. You get angry sometimes, when you watch their interaction. You hate the way Costia speaks perfect English, or blinks her beautiful blue eyes to get her way with stealing a few extra sweet pies from his shack. You hate how she always offers you one, even when you spend most of the day glaring at her. She's so nice and kind without expecting anything in return and it infuriates you.

You _especially_ hate the way she makes your stomach twist with excitement.

Dashiq teases you endlessly when you find yourself picking fights with the boys that tug her hair or try to make her cry. He tells you that you're a knight and she is a princess, but you both know that with Costia's sharp tongue and dead aim, she is more of a knight than you ever could be. Her skill is prodigal, and you are always in awe and in anger of the raw power she possesses. You always wonder how she can be so small and soft like her mother, but then have the dignity and poise of the great Heda himself. Her smile is radiant and pure, bright enough to blind even the darkest of enemies.

No, you really don't like Costia at all.

(You really do.)

You see Dashiq now, walking back with Luna, arms full of herbs and berries and whatever else needed for his assortment of concoctions. You couldn't care much for his other items, but you narrow in on the berries. Your mouth salivates, and you can tell by the way Costia is snorting over her shoulder at your expression, that you will do anything to get them. Dashiq squeezes his shoulders through the frame of the clan's gate, causing you to chuckle. He turns his head, flashing you a playful frown before looking to his berries. You feel your stomach rumble from the sight of them. Blackberries, fresh from the trees by the sea. Your favourite snack. With a cheeky grin, you drop your bow and run over to him, extending your hand with an innocent smile.

"And why should I give you some?" He asks with a sharp, teasing laugh. "Mockery is not the product of a strong mind, _strik_ _Leksa._ "

"Because," you fumble, still not so great with your English (again, stupid Costia), "I am… um…  _ai am ste enti_."

"I am sorry, Leksa," Dashiq scorns playfully, wiggling his brows. "I do not know what you mean. I _only_ speak English."

"Berries?" Costia's voice pipes up and you grumble under your breath. "I am hungry, Dashiq. May I have some?"

"Of course, Costia." Dashiq nods and gives her a handful of the sweet fruit before flicking your ear. "Practice, _goufa_ , and maybe next time I'll give you some." You roll your eyes and cross your arms with a huff, not appreciating how he gives Costia such attention. He walks back into the village, purposefully squeezing through this time to allow you a chance to laugh once more. You can't help the smile that spreads across your lips as you watch him disappear into his tent. Luna follows with an amused chuckle, patting Costia's shoulder before squeezing your arm.

"Make sure you are washed before dinner," she says, looking to the mud on your clothes. You nod and bow your head, but she tips your chin upwards and smiles softly. Her gaze is filled with warmth and love, something that you'd once saw in your mother but now, your mother is a cold place in the pit of your heart - a place that does not and will not ever bring you joy. Your mother is gone but Luna is here. She is kind and sweet, but most of all, she is faithful and loyal to your side. Luna must've seen the shift in your eyes as her smile falters slightly. You wipe away the memory and sigh sadly.

"Sorry," you apologize, looking away with guilt. Luna leans her head down and pecks your forehead. "I did not, um, mean…"

"Wash before dinner, Leksa," she whispers, interrupting you as your voice trembles, "it is fine,  _yongon_."

You can only nod again as she stands taller and makes her way through the camp, greeting her many warriors and villagers. As you see the way she leads, the grace and kindness in each touch and step, you cannot help but feel like that is exactly how you want to be. You watch her as she speaks, her tongue soft and words quiet but still filled with immeasurable strength. She is the definition of a chief, of power in all the right forms. You want that, to be like her.

To one day, be _great_. 

"Your staring is obvious," Costia chuckles from beside you as she inches closer. "But I agree, you will be great."

"Great?" You ask, blushing as you look at her with timidness that only she brings out in you. Her blue eyes are calm like her mother's, her hair long and blonde like the sun as she nods and giggles, poking your shoulder. She's a few inches taller than you, but you know it's only because she is a few summers older.

(Stupid, stupid Costia).

"You said that you wanted to be great," she repeats like she's drawling the word out. "I was merely stating an agreement. You do not give yourself enough credit, even though you _do_ have a temper." She pops a berry into her mouth as you blush deeper. Your throat constricts as your fingers itch. Costia sighs and pokes you in the shoulder again. You go to snarl at her, because why does _every_ touch light you on fire? Instead, when you see her face, your stomach bottoms out and stars float around your head. You don't understand this feeling, this tug to be closer to her, and you hate it.

But then, as her hand extends and offers you a berry, your frown is wiped clean.

"Your English needs work if you do not wish to starve," she grins with a smirk as you swat the berry from her hands and shove it into your mouth. She giggles again as her free hand reaches out, her thumb wiping over the purple stain leftover on your lip by the juice. "But you are getting better, Leksa. You just need practice. You should listen to me and my mother more often in our lessons instead of staring off into the trees, _goufa_."

She adds the last bit with teasing endearment, but you grumble under your breath nonetheless. Just as you are about to answer, you hear a horn sounding. The two of you look up to see a barrage of warriors coming down the hills towards the village. Your heart leaps in your chest as you're suddenly back in the burning wheat fields with your dead father. You want to cry or scream as you remember the shouts before arrows had pierced his back. You search for his sword and find it laying next to the bow you'd been crafting. Dashing from Costia's side and ignoring the other girl's gasp of confusion, you reach for the blade and grip it tightly. You turn around to see a giant black horse, with a strong-faced young woman riding it.

"You challenge me, _branwada_?" The woman's voice is rough and scratchy, almost angry. "You are half the length of my thigh, child." You shiver as she drops down from her horse and towers over you. When you realize that she is right, you almost want to cower. Yet, you do not. you stand still and tall.

By now, Luna, Dashiq, and a few of the  _Floukru's_  people have come outside to see her arrival. You look up to see the streaks of black on her eyes and cheeks. You remember your father again and are filled once more by rage. You can hear the whizzing of the metal blades through the air, of the choking gasp as he'd handed you the sword. The harsh thud when he'd collapsed in those burning fields so you may have a chance to run and fight. You grit your teeth and nod your head up at her, eyes lit with determination despite your age. You may be a child, but you are still born from a warrior.

" _Sha_ ," you growl out with determination. "I challenge you."

"Anya," one of her guards calls out, "she is the one."

Her eyes don't move from yours, but she does not smile or growl. Instead, her lips remain pursed in a tight line, shoulders back and hands crossed behind her. She grunts in acknowledgement, still raking her gaze over your small body. You gulp, your sword trembling a little harder in your grip now. Before Anya can speak, you watch as Luna crosses the grounds in long, powerful strides, coming to stand before the woman with the painted face. Her hand drapes to your shoulder, and you can feel it trembling as the leader you've come to address as your own  _nomon_ stares hard and long into this warrior's gaze. They communicate with their eyes for a moment, the silence carrying the words they leave unspoken with the gentle breeze.

"When?" Luna asks quietly. Anya's eyes flicker with an unreadable emotion as she glances up to the blonde. Luna tenses when Anya steps forward.

"Last night," Anya speaks, her voice solemn as her hand reaches out and touches Luna's shoulders. "The council has made their decision." 

"What decision?" Costia cuts in, standing by your side as she crosses her arms in wariness. Anya glances at her faintly, snorting at her sharp tongue.

"One that doesn't concern you, _goufa_ ," Anya tells her roughly. Upon the insult that is not playful, you swing your sword down, missing her feet. The people of _Floukru_ gasp behind you, and even Luna looks horrified at your action. The warrior's guard looks absolutely furious that you would even think to move your sword in their direction, let alone attempt to hit her. You ignore their stares and keep strong, glaring at the woman before you. 

"They were not wrong it seems," Anya muses as she observes you like a hawk watching its prey. "You are indeed ready." She adds the last bit with a slight laugh, though the slight dip of pain and anguish does not leave her eyes. She turns back to Luna, who's eyes are downcast and mournful. 

"She will complete the task in winter," Anya tells her strictly, her voice growing sterner. "Until then, she must come to _Tondisi_  to train with me."

"You can't just take her!" Costia says, stepping in front of you protectively. You shiver at the crack in her voice. "She's not yours."

Anya remains quiet for a few moments, staring at the girl that just defended your honour without a single weapon. You expect Costia to cower under her smouldering gaze, but the girl only glares up at the warrior with fire in her eyes. Somehow she's managed to inch closer to you out of the need to defend your honour, her hands clenching into tight fists. She jerks her head up, ignoring the questioning stare of her mother from beside you. Her blue eyes are fierce and sharp, challenging Anya to speak. The swirling in your gut churns harder as you blush at her actions. Then, Anya speaks.

"And is she yours, girl?" Anya asks, and you already know the question is loaded. Costia is taken aback by the question, literally. She stumbles a bit into you, a red blaze filling her cheeks as she looks down, flustered by her own words. She looks to her palms, now unclenched and slightly shaky. Anya does not smile, nor does she laugh or even snort. She is waiting for an answer, but Costia seems hesitant.

" _Em laik ain_ ," you answer for her, without even processing or comprehending the weight behind the words that leave your lips. It shocks the two of you and Anya's eyes flicker with something you can't quite understand. Then, she looks at Luna once more. The chief swallows thickly before she hesitantly nods. Anya is quiet again, silent and contemplating. Costia's shoulder brushes yours, but you don't leap away. Instead, you inch closer. 

So does she.

"You speak English well?" Anya asks Costia, her voice steady. The girl nods, unsure of the relevance to the situation.

"I teach Leksa," she replies, and you see Anya's flash once more. "If you take her, I cannot continue our lessons." 

"There are plenty of scholars back in camp," one of her guards protests, "we do not have to-" 

" _Em pleni_ ," Anya says with a sharp bark. You fight the urge to flinch at her tone, but even as the guard slinks back to his post by the horses, her eyes stay bearing on yours. She flicks her gaze to Costia once, before she sighs. Licking over her lips, she orders something to one of her guards in a low voice before turning back to you with an even, almost neutral expression. Luna tenses slightly beside you when the warrior opens her mouth to speak.

"You have until sundown for the both of you to pack your things," she tells the two of you, "we leave at dusk for TonDC."

"Why?" You hear Costia question, looking to her mother in confusion. Luna, however, remains silent. Anya perks her brow, her gaze still on you.

"Your village burned a year ago, _Aleksandria kom Daukru_." The words hit you like a knife to the gut, but Anya is not done. "Do you know why?"

_The forest is your home now, and from within it you will lead._

You see your father's ghost from over Anya's shoulder. Four arrows are in his back as he smiles at you. In his eyes, you can see the sheer amount of reverence and adoration he has for you. A sharp gasp leaves your lips as you breathe out his name. Costia stiffens beside you, but you pay her no attention. You want to run to your father and have him take you back. You look around for your _nomon_ , to see if she made it back to you, too. Yet, there is no one else there, and when you look at him closer, you can see the blood that covers his clothing. His eyes are dead but still so full of life. How?

_It is time for your journey, ai hodnes._

"Aleksandria," Anya repeats your name again firmly, "tell me, _gada_. Why did your village burn?"

"She's a child," Luna interjects, finally having had enough of Anya's questioning. The warrior's gaze flickers up to the leader of the _Floukru_ , but it does not grow hostile when Luna pleads, "she does not need to know yet. It cannot be, not yet. You know that she is still too young for the test."

"Test?" You echo quietly, your eyes still locked with your father's own. "W-What test?"

"The ascension test," Anya answers shortly, ignoring Luna. "The test that determines the next Heda."

"Are you trying to tell me that you think _Leksa_ is the new Heda?" Costia demands in a scoff, not taking the warriors word seriously. "She's _tiny_." Anya's left brow raises, but she does not appear to be offended by what your friend is saying. She steps forward, lumbering over Costia with her remarkable height. It's only as she steps closer that you can see how young she actually is. Anya must not be older than eighteen summers.

It all makes sense now.

"You're the Heda's _seken_ ," you say quietly, watching as the warrior's gaze snaps back to you. "He is still sick, isn't he?"

"How did you know?" Anya asks, perking a brow. You gulp, catching the gaze of your father once again. He nods at you once, and then the next time you blink, he is gone. You sigh and bow your head, your heart feeling a bit heavier than it had back when you'd been messing around with Costia.

"I was sick, too. A year ago," you answer as you glance up at her, "just after my village was burned."

"Why was it burned?" Costia asks the question this time. Anya does not speak but her eyes lock onto yours. You take a breath to steel yourself.

"Because," you answer with a hoarse croak, "they thought _I_ could be the next Commander."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRANSLATIONS:
> 
> Nontu/Nomon - Father/Mother  
> Shof op - quiet  
> Bants - leave  
> Branwada - idiot/foolish  
> Goufa - child (silly)  
> Ai nontu laik stedaunon - my father is dead  
> Ain sentaim - mine too  
> Ai laik kom… Trikru - I am from… the Woods Clan  
> Sha, ai nomon don gon - yes, my mother is gone  
> Ai gaf wich em pace - I want to believe in peace  
> Yu gonplei no ste odon, kom nau - your fight is not over, not yet  
> Ai hod yu in - I love you  
> Ste yuj - stay strong  
> Strik - little  
> Ai am ste enti - I am hungry  
> Yongon - child (formal)  
> Em laik ain - she is mine  
> Em pleni - that's enough  
> Daukru - Prairie Clan  
> Floukru - Boat People
> 
> Also I imagined Costia to look something like Daenerys Targaryen from GoT. I also pictured her older and taller than Lexa. I could be totally wrong though, but that's how I've envisioned her for the story.
> 
> ALSO I CAN'T WAIT FOR HEDA TO RETURN NEXT THURSDAY.
> 
> Thanks for reading! :)


	9. i have been wrong, i have been right

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i have been both these things all in the same night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: MENTIONS OF DEATH AND HEAVY BLOOD/GORE.
> 
> The trigger comes in Clarke's section, right at the beginning of her nightmare where it talks about the Mountain. It's a bit graphic, so if you'd prefer to skip through it, feel free. You won't really be missing out on much. This chapter is a mix of light and dark tones, but delves more into Lexa's past. The next few chapters will explain or touch on a few of the memories a few other characters have shared about her. Please let me know if it's becoming too overwhelming or boring, though! :)
> 
> Thanks to all of you that leave comments and kudos! Honestly, they help so much. These kind of fics are tough because I never really know when it's too much/not enough detail wise :P If you can leave a comment, please, please do! No pressure if you don't want to, however! Thanks again for the support!
> 
> The chapter/summary comes from the song, "If Be Wrong" by Wolfe Larsen.

 

**Lexa**

 

"Pick up your feet, girl!"

You grunt as Anya lets another blow connect to your side with her spear. You've been training all year with her now, but today you seem distracted. No, you _are_ distracted. Your eyes peer through the crowd of other future test-takers and you see Costia teaching one of the younger boys how to shoot an arrow with perfect precision. You smile dazedly when she catches your glance over the boy's shoulder. She waves timidly, but before you can respond, a slap of mud connects with your face. You spit out what you can in disgust before glaring at an unamused Anya, standing with her arms crossed.

"What?!" You growl at her, stumbling back to your feet and wiping the dirt off. "I was getting up!"

"No you weren't, _branwada_. You were staring like a lost fool _again_ ," Anya grunts in displeasure as she adjusts your armour, trying to fit it to your smaller frame. A hint of sadness passes through her gaze when she notices that despite your new diet and the intense workout regime, you are still tiny. Your test is merely months away, but you don't even want to take it. You're about to argue with your mentor again when Anya takes a knee and squats in front of you. Her fingers lightly play with a loose thread on your tunic.

"No, you _are_ getting distracted. Leksa, in this test-"

"People die," you mutter in defeat as you bow your head, "I know."

Anya takes her next breath like it's taking all of her strength to simply stay alive. She reaches for your hands and places your sword back into your cracked palms. She curls your fingers over the hilt before staring back up at you. Furiously wiping at your eyes, you try to avoid her stare. You know that she's disappointed but not of your ability. You are not likely to pass these trials. Everyone expects you to be killed first, and you can understand why.

"I wish it weren't me," you whisper to her as you fiddle with the sword. "I don't want to kill anyone."

 _I wanted to be a healer_ , you don't tell her.

 _I wanted to play and sing_ , you don't scream.

 _I wanted to be normal_ , you don't cry out as tears well in your eyes once more.

" _Mela op, blinka au_ ," Anya tells you as you wipe away more tears. "You are not dying, Leksa. You must go on to achieve amazing things."

"Not me," you mumble as you sigh and get back into your fighting stance. "Come. Let's go again. I will try not be so distracted."

"Leksa," Anya murmurs softly as she gets to her feet. "The test is not a game. You must survive."

"Shouldn't life be more than just survival?" You question her boldly. It's one of the characteristics that Luna loves about you - your inability to hold back your thoughts. You challenge everything about your people's ways. You look around to the sparring children and then back up at your mentor. You suck in a deep breath and set your jaw as you ask, "what about peace between our clans? We're all the same, aren't we? We just come from different places."

"It's not that simple," Anya grumbles as she nods at you to head to the healing tent. You frown, but she doesn't look like she wants to continue your sparring sessions. Immediately, you know that this is another lesson she wants to teach you. You'll never admit it, but your favourite part about Anya are her lessons. She's no longer the Commander's _seken_ , but instead the leader of her own military unit for TonDC. She's finally met her twentieth summer, but to you, she'll always be nothing but your older sister that you miss so much. Anya settles you down and hands you a goblet of water.

"Peace between our clans cannot exist, not yet." Her voice is grim as you tentatively sip from your cup. "We have too many differences, some petty and others major, that separate us. The _Trigedakru_ own most of the land in the forest. The _Floudonkru_ have access to the waters. _Azgeda_ faces harsh winters and their crops are killed easily. Most of the produce comes from the Valley. We are not all equal, young Leksa. That is why there is war."

"Why don't we share?" You ask again, setting your cup down. "Wouldn't it be better if we just worked together?" Anya offers you a sad smile, like she is revelling in your innocence. You know little of war, other than you will be preparing to fight for your first one in a few moons (given you past the test). Your insides tremble with even the thought of taking a life, but Anya reminds you with a cold stare that sometimes lives need to be taken to survive.

"I just don't like having to push people down to get somewhere," you admit quietly as you fiddle with your thumbs. Anya slaps at your hands and you groan at her. "I mean, what I want to say is that I don't like fighting, Anya. I don't understand why _I_ am being called to this test. Costia is right. I am not cut out to be Heda. I am too small, too frail, too weak. Just admit it, I am going to die when I get there." You're trying to hold your voice back from trembling, but the fear of not even living long enough to see your tenth summer makes you all kinds of nervous and mournful.

"That is the system that is in place, Leksa," Anya tells you, her voice gruff. "Unfortunately, we have no power over how it is ruled."

There's a pause, and when she looks at you, something in her gaze changes. You frown, but at the silent convey of information you begin to understand what she is trying to get at. A lump forms in your throat as you nod your head up to see Costia walking over towards you. She has a beaming, warm smile on her face, but her eyes are guarded when she catches Anya still glancing down at you. You turn your gaze back to your mentor, trying to ignore the pit in your stomach.

"Leksa," Anya says your name strongly, "you know who _does_ have power over the systems?"

Yes, you do, but it makes your heart sink into your intestines. Yes, you know who can change the world to mould it into what you want to see. But while the answer to her question will always be yes, you know exactly what accompanies that one three-lettered word. You are still a child, and maybe you are naive for believing in change, but you are not foolish enough to ignore the signs. With one question, Anya asks a million different things.

And you _hate_ that you know the answer to all of them.

"They are all older than me," you whisper to her as you eye up the other ascendants, "they are stronger, taller, faster-"

"But you are smart," Anya tells you strictly as her hand reaches out. Her finger stiffens and brushes your temple. "In here." She drags the nimble limb downwards so that it hovers over your heart. She glances over to Costia, now only feet away, before she turns back to you and whispers, "and in _here_."

"What if I can't do it?" You ask her as Costia takes her place beside you. Her hand finds yours, and even though she doesn't speak, you can hear every ounce of encouragement and support with her gentle touch. You take a deeper breath as Anya offers another smile to you. She removes her finger and stands up, brushing off her uniform as she takes to picking up her sword and bracers. You keep looking at her as she sighs and parts her mouth.

"So long as you believe, you can accomplish anything. You are not a pacifist," she tells you with a firm gaze, "you are a peacemaker."

"But you said that there could be no such peace!" You argue, squeezing Costia's hand. Anya offers a wistful smirk as she sees the fire ignite in your eyes. She walks over and kneels before grabbing at your chin gently, nodding your head downwards so your eyes meet only a few spaces apart.

"Not now," she murmurs as she gazes at Costia's hand on yours, "but perhaps in the future."

With that, she bids a farewell to you and heads towards her other warriors. You follow her back and sigh, glancing back at your sword. Your father's blade was too big for you, so Anya made you another one. Your father's sword is still in your tent, serving as a reminder of his loss. You set your jaw and remember the words he'd whispered to you before he'd been killed. You let go of Costia's hand and stand up, picking up your new sword. You hear her calling your name, but you know that this is not a choice she cannot make. You must honour your father's sacrifice with your own. No matter how it kills you on the inside, you cannot stop now. If you have a chance to change the world, you know you must take it.

Your new lessons will involve swords and arrows instead of paper and ink.

You will be learning how to plan battles and fight wars instead of flying kites and playing games.

Your love will be for your _people_  and not Costia, not yourself, not Luna or Dashiq.

Your hands will be drenched in blood and death instead of paint and innocence.

The minute you were found, your childhood was erased and your role was thrust upon you.

You are not _Aleksandria_ , the girl from a distant village now turned to ashen dust. You are not a little girl hopelessly lost and waiting to be found. You are not a dreamer or stargazer. You are not a girl with the forest in her eyes and soil in her hair. You are not a child anymore, free from war. You are not innocent or naive or young. You are not a _child_ anymore.

You are _Leksa kom Trikru_ , the potential successor of your Heda.

(You _wish_ you had a choice.)

Anya turns around when she hears you marching towards her. The older woman's eyebrow perks up as she sees your new determination. You look around at all the children, some older than you, and glare back at your mentor. Your chest heaves as tears burn in your eyes. You grip your sword and step closer, swallowing thickly. Costia calls for you in the background, but you force yourself to ignore her. You will not be distracted. You must be strong.

"Leksa?" Anya asks, but her tone suggests she already knows what you are going to say. You grit your teeth and pull back the urge to cry.

"Teach me to fight," you tell her strictly, your voice no longer quiet and innocent. "Teach me, so I may bring us _all_ peace one day."

 

**Lincoln**

 

"Did you spend the entire night in here?" Clarke asks as she parts the tent flaps and enters the healing hut. You barely offer a nod as you continue to clutch Lexa's hand lightly in your palm. She's burning up slightly, but you know that it's a result of her wounds. Clarke grabs some vials and bandages from the side drawer before making her way over to your side. Your eyes are still glued to Lexa's face as you try to hold yourself together.

"I did this to her."

Clarke freezes when the words leave your lips. You refuse to glance in her direction, however. Instead, you keep your gaze trapped to your sister. You clutch her palm a little tighter, still being mindful of her gashes. Just the sight of the sodden bandages makes you sick. Clarke sighs from behind you as she settles down on the cot, just next to the Commander's thighs. You keep your jaw set so you may not offer a moment of weakness.

"I did too," Clarke replies quietly, "and while things between us aren't settled, I know that I'm responsible for this."

"How?" You scoff as you let go of Lexa's hand and look to her. "I was the one who told Bellamy to go seek her out. I was the one who… I…" You can't finish your statement as you remember her neck in your hands, of how you'd slammed her against that wall and watched the blood drip from her nose. Clarke watches you carefully, but says nothing. Instead, she swallows thickly and fiddles with some of the bandages in her hands.

"I was close to negotiating with the Queen," Clarke mumbles as she bows her head. "She was tempting me into killing Lexa. I almost let her."

"Clarke," you practically gasp her name as you feel the tears burn at your eyes. "Lexa-"

"I know," Clarke answers, but even thought you'd not finished your thought, you can see that she's understood. Guilt harrows in those aged blue depths as she takes a breath and gestures to Lexa. "But that's something for later. Right now, we need to see if we can get that arrow out of her back."

The unspoken acknowledgement leaves you slightly breathless, but Clarke is right. You get up and go to arrange Lexa on the bed while Clarke sets her things down on the drawer beside the Commander's head. You roll down the sheet and grimace at the bleeding bandages. You hazard a glance up at the healer only to find that Clarke shares the same expression as you. Her teeth grit and she looks ready to cry, but she holds it together. Turning around, she starts preparing an antiseptic rub with some of the paste she'd gotten from Dashiq earlier. 

Before you can reach for Lexa to turn, you glance down to see her eyes open and glazed.

"K-K-," she chokes out, her breath coming in uneven spaces. At the cough, Clarke spins around instantly. You reach down for Lexa's hand as her eyes flick back and forth, glancing around for something. Her hands are trembling and she is too warm for someone suffering from multiple injuries.

"Ssh," you whisper calmingly as your thumb strokes down the back of her quivering hand, "ssh, _sis, en's ogud sis, yu ste klir._ "

" _K-Kos… Kos…_ ," you hear the words spit from her blood tinging lips. You know exactly what she's trying to say, and as you look to the tears burning in her fevered eyes, you can see the pain it's causing her. You have no idea where she is, but you know that she's not _here_. You just hold her hand tighter and kiss her bruised knuckles, humming as peacefully as you can to keep her calm. Clarke is frozen and staring in shock, but you won't choke up.

" _Kos… K-Kostia_ ," Lexa whines again as tears start to drip down her cheeks. " _Biyo moba, Kostia, b-biyo…_ "

"Ssh," you coo again as she starts to writhe, her jerky movements straining some of her stitches. " _Leksa, yu souda chil au. Beja._ "

" _Kostia…_ ," Lexa cries again as she fits on the bed. You can see her eyelids starting to droop with the numbing call for unconsciousness, but her lips still lazily part to breathe out, " _em laksen, Kostia. Beja, kom houm… beja K-Kostia, b-biyo… b-biyo moba… ai… ai h-hod yu… ai hod yu in, Kostia._ " Tears still stream down her face as she loses herself in the memory. Clarke looks gutted at the words leaving the Commander's lips, but know this memory.

" _Beja_ ," Lexa pleads one final time before she falls back into unconsciousness, " _beja, ai h-hodness… kom h-houm._ "

You and Clarke wait until she is unconscious again before either of you move. You bow your head as Lexa's breathing returns back to its normal, rattling sound. You gently let go of her hand, grimacing with disgust and agony when you see that your own is coated in a slick sheen of sweat and blood. Her stitches on her palm must've reopened. You glance to Clarke, who's gaze is frozen and wide-eyed on Lexa's now slumbering face. You clear your throat as you reach across her for a sterile needle and some thread. She doesn't notice as you start unwrapping the hand closest to you so you can restitch it.

"They had their first argument after Lexa came back from her first war," you explain quietly as you start unwrapping her hands. Clarke remains still, unmoving and lost in her own world. You take a breath and continue. "The Commander had left without letting her know and Costia had been furious. Refused to talk to Heda for weeks, even though she was injured at the time. It was the first time I ever saw them really mad at each other. Lexa was mad at Costia for not understanding that she didn't have a choice, and Costia was mad because Lexa thought sealing up her heart was the best decision."

"How old was she?" Clarke croaks out. You're surprised she can even speak. You finish stitching up Lexa's hand, your eyes glazing as you make out that stubbled pinky. You take a breath and set the hand back down before reaching for the bandage. You wrap it carefully around her palm as Clarke waits.

"Almost ten summers," you answer, your voice cracking as you shake away the memories of your sister coming back from war against the Iron Clan, drenched in blood and covered in scratches. "She was still Anya's Second. But she was also ascended to be Heda. Her duties belonged on the front lines, no matter how inexperienced or young she'd been. So many Seconds were killed in that battle, but Lexa got by with the skin of her teeth. Thanks to Anya's training and mentorship, she learned quickly to fight well and survive on the battlefield. She had to make up for her size and strength with brains and tactics. The previous Commander would call her weak all the time, claim she were a disgrace for trying to find the least bloody way to end a fight."

You hated the last Commander. Aranion, from TonDC. He was arrogant and bloodthirsty, constantly on the lookout for war and vengeance. He believed in the power of his army over the safety of his people. Lexa challenged him with the stubborn little head of hers, which often earned her lashes. You grit your teeth at the memory of how she'd questioned his tactics, his motives, in the middle of one of the council meetings Indra made you attend. She'd stood up, all four feet of her, and snarled at Heda, demanding that the people should come first. Their protection and safety befalls all else. 

"Why do you start so young?" Clarke asks as she finally moves, reaching for Lexa's other hand. "She… she was a kid."

Your heart clenches when you remember how you'd found that man in the forest, of how you'd returned to your father and begged him to help. When you told Lexa, she'd agreed with you. Of all of you, only Costia was proficient enough in English to communicate with him, but she'd returned to the _Floukru_ to help her mother with a sickness that had felled the village. You and Lexa came back to him and tried to help him by offering food and water, but there was nothing more you could do. When you approached your father, you'd thought he'd take the same views as you - that he'd help.

But no, because of him, you were forced to kill an innocent man because he was an outsider.

(Aren't we all outsiders?)

"Lexa was never a kid," you answer instead, fighting the growl from your throat. "None of us were, really."

"I'm sorry," Clarke whispers as she finishes stitching Lexa's hand. "I… I can't imagine…"

"Don't imagine," you say quietly, glancing up to see her tear-ridden gaze, "it's easier that way."

Clarke nods, biting back her tears as she silently rises. She motions back to Lexa and you nod. You both take a shoulder, supporting Lexa as best as you can so she may not tear anymore stitches when you maneuver her onto her stomach. You grimace at her chest wound, worried that it may be the worst action in turning her over, but Clarke gives you an encouraging nod. Her eyes tell a different story, but you can tell she's trying to be brave. You listen without argument and before long, you've slowly managed to get Lexa on her stomach. A whimper leaves her lips, but she doesn't wake again.

"Dashiq went to the woods to get more supplies for her wounds," Clarke murmurs as she starts working at the small bandage covering the arrow hole. "He won't be back for awhile so I volunteered to get the arrow out. I figured it might be easier with you here instead of Bell or O. Not that they wouldn't be able to take it… it's just I think Lexa would feel more comfortable with you." Her voice seems hesitant and she can't make eye-contact with you, but you don't think much of it other than the slightest tremble in her fingers when she removes the bandage. An angry red mesh of flesh is revealed.

You see Clarke about to panic, so you step in.

"Costia didn't make it half a day without going to see Lexa," you whisper quietly, offering a small smirk. "Those two were always inseparable, no matter how many times they argued - which wasn't much. With all the training and expectations, the war and the death, Costia was a constant in Lexa's life. I know that she's gone now, but back then, when Lexa was still young and new as both a warrior and Commander, she was needed." Clarke takes in your words and digests them like she's eating a piece of wood. You can see her jaw muscles tensing and the veins in her throat strain as she swallows.

"The best thing we can do is cut out what we can," you continue to speak, unsure as to why you're able to say so calm. Clarke nods and swallows down the anxiety before she reaches out and brushes the reddened, bruised skin around the entry of the wound. You take a breath and reach for her wrist, giving it a gentle squeeze of encouragement. With your touch, you see Clarke's facial expression change. The fear drops and she goes into healer-mode. Taking a breath, she reaches for the sterilized knife by her side before leaning down on the cot. You watch as she steadies her hands.

Clarke cuts into her skin like a professional. You watch as she reaches inside and maneuvers the arrow around until she manages to cleanly pull the end bit from her muscles. She sets it aside in disgust before she goes to the small bowl of alcohol and rinses her hands. You take the time to wipe away the blood from the wound while she sets up with another needle and thread to suture it back together. You mop up the rest of the blood and lean back, giving her the space to work on the Commander. Your heart aches terribly inside your chest because there's not an inch of skin unmarred by wounds.

"She would do it again," you choke out as Clarke fastens a new bandage to Lexa's back. She seals it up before glancing at you. Clearing your throat, you help situate your sister on her back once again before leaning down and brushing a few strands of hair stuck to Lexa's clammy, but pale, face.

"She'd face the trials for infinity if it meant keeping her people safe," you tell her, not in a condescending tone, but more so declarative. "She would burn the world to the ground - give up her own _life_ \- if it guaranteed their protection. She's not just their leader, but their shield." Clarke looks pensive, but then she frowns. You can see the flicker of a frown form upon her tightened, chapped lips. She stares at Lexa's sleeping face with watery eyes.

"What are you trying to get at?" She growls as a few tears slip down her cheeks. You allow a moment of silence before you recall the events of the trials, of Clarke and Lexa's joint decision. You reach out and place your hand on her shoulder, giving the tight muscle underneath an encouraging squeeze.

"You're her people now," you tell her quietly, "don't forget that."

Clarke lets out a faint gasp as you let go of her and reach for Lexa's blanket. You go to place it on top of her but Clarke's hand juts out. "No," she tells you as she wipes away a few tears, "she needs to air out those wounds. The furs won't do any good for her fever." You nod and set the blanket at her waist instead, seeing as Clarke doesn't protest. She continues to simply sit in her chair and stare at the Commander with bloodstained eyes.

"I'm going to go check on Octavia," you murmur, rising from your spot. "Call me if you need anything. I'll be close."

Clarke doesn't speak, and instead she simply nods. You sigh and maneuver your way out of the tent, leaving her alone. Outside, the darkness of the mid-evening has crept in, signifying how long all of you slept the previous night. You're still tired, but you know that your concern is for Lexa. You make your way over to the fire pit where you spot a few Floukru warriors. They look at you hesitantly, but before long they're offering you a drink and some food. Octavia and Bellamy come back from a hunt, you presume by the boar slain in the wagon behind them. They put it on a spit and the warriors all commend you for your skills. You can see the fatigue in your girlfriend's eyes as you pull her closer into your chest. Octavia slumps and sighs.

"Is she doing better?" She asks softly, her hand reaching for yours.

 _No_ , you want to tell her, _she's getting worse._

"We'll see," you opt to say instead, kissing her forehead. "Until her heart stops, _em gonplei nou ste odon nowe_." 

 

**Abby**

 

You walk into the medical building to see candles lit up around your desk. Immediately, you pause and raise your brow. As you turn around, you catch the sight of Kane with a bouquet of flowers from the gardens outside. You don't speak for a moment as he nervously enters before extending his arm and offering the bunch of tulips towards you. He looks almost like a schoolboy, and the sheepishness in his eyes remind you of your early days with Jake. Your heart thuds inside your chest as you reluctantly accept the flowers from his hands. You bring them to your nose and sniff slowly.

"Raven said you might like them," Kane says as he awkwardly rubs at the back of his. "But then again, it is Raven and she could've been sarcastic." You watch his eyes muddle with horror as he lets the words leave his lips. He glances up, biting his lip nervously as he asks, " _was_ she being sarcastic?"

"I may be a badass doctor and Chancellor, but who doesn't love flowers?" You chuckle, allowing yourself to ease his nerves. You move across the room to your desk and set the flowers down, away from the flames. Kane still looks unsure of whether or not he should come in. You wait by your desk.

"What is this?" You ask quietly, glancing at the candles and the dim setting. "I thought we agreed we wouldn't-"

"Raven and I planned it," Kane says with a quiet chuckle as he gains some confidence. He takes the first step inside and folds his hands behind his back like the stoic head of security that he once had been. You can see there's still lingering nervousness present in his eyes, but he stiffens his spine. "Jackson helped, too. We just figured that you've been in hell with your workload and might want an evening to relax. He moved the non-critical patients off into Zakera ward, where they're being treated by the new nurses you've trained. I know that you want to work, but you need to take care of yourself first." You quirk a brow at him, deciding to wade out his anxiety with a few questions of your own. It's all playful, but you feel touched by the gesture.

"I wouldn't have pegged you for the romantic type, Marcus. Nor would have I thought you'd go to a nineteen year old girl for advice on first dates," you chuckle, amused at how Kane's face pales slightly. He laughs dryly and rolls his shoulders, loosing some of that awkward stiffness. You offer a kind smile as you walk forward, reaching out to place your hands on his shoulders before giving him a peck on the cheek.

"Thank you," you whisper quietly as you loop your arms around his neck and pull him into a hug, "for knowing me better than myself."

Kane doesn't answer with words. Instead, he loops his arms around your waist and pulls you close. You rest your head against his chest and close your eyes as you slowly sway in the middle of the candlelit office. There's no music, but somehow you find yourself lost in a smooth, slow rhythm. After awhile, Kane starts humming. It brings a wider smile to your face, and in that moment, you forget about the fact that your daughter is still missing and her friends haven't come back yet. You let aside your pain and allow something else to fill the void left in your chest after Jake's death.

"You know," Kane murmurs against your hair, "I always thought you were the greatest doctor on the Ark. You're a remarkable woman, and I'm sorry for the way I treated you before we fell to the ground. I… my head wasn't in the right place, but coming here - meeting _you_ \- changed that. Changed _me_."

"Good to know I'm great at doing something other than saving lives," you mutter against his shoulder. Kane laughs and nods, holding you closer as you continue to sway. You can feel your heart thumping wildly inside your chest as one of his hands snake upwards to find one of your hands.

"We're gonna get through this," Kane whispers as he pecks your temple. "I'm not leaving you."

Jake's dead. Clarke's gone.

But _Kane_ isn't leaving you.

You answer him in the form of a surging kiss. At first, the taller man is taken aback by the sudden show of affection, but then he melts as your other hand frames his face. You feel tears sliding down your cheeks as you part your mouth and allow him the access to seek out your darkest secrets. He kisses you like your hands heal people; he's gentle and slow, but meticulous and steady. He keeps you grounded as you lean into him more. You can tell that he's trying to take some weight off your shoulders so he may bear it himself, even if only for a moment. You kiss him harder at the thought.

"You're not alone anymore, Abby." He breathes the words out between another kiss. "I won't let you be alone again."

As your mouth reconnects with his, you swear you can feel yourself grow ever so slightly lighter.

 

**Clarke**

 

You're standing at the gate of the Mountain on your own.

The Grounders have long since gone, having left you to deal with getting your friends out on your own. Your hands are curled into fists and you can still feel the tears that have dried on your cheeks. You whip your head around, searching for some sort of help. You can't pull the door open yourself. You crash to your knees as you see your father in the distance, standing atop the ridge where the shooters had been. He stares at you pitifully. Finn lingers at his side, a gun pressed into his side. His eyes are cold but sad, his chest still cut and bleeding from where you'd slipped the blade that'd ended him.

"Clarke," a voice whispers in the wind, calling to you with a gentle caress. "Clarke, you can do this."

Suddenly, you blink and you're in the control room. Monty is gone and so is Bellamy. You're staring at the screens, but all you see are dead children, elders, and men and women that had no part in this war. They're all dead, splayed out and burned to a crisp. You feel your heart pick up the pace as you search through the screens for your friends and family, but when you look for the torture chambers, they're empty except for one person.

Lexa stares into the camera, her gaze bearing into yours.

You choke and cry out as you stumble backwards. You hear something thud to the floor and you swivel your head to see Dante's corpse sprawled out at your feet. His lifeless eyes bear into your own and you can't breathe. You clutch at your own chest and sob as you sink to your knees. You feel so cold and alone as you look back to the screen showing Level Five's devastation. Three hundred and fifty people, all killed at the palm of your hand. When you look to the torture chamber, you freeze when you find that Lexa is still staring at you. She's dressed in the same outfit as she'd left you in. 

"Clarke," the voice in your head murmurs again, "you can do this."

You clutch your head and scream, shaking your head as you feel the room start to close in on you. This time when you look up, the bodies are gone and all the screens are replaced with Lexa standing and staring into the computer monitor. You rise to your feet on shaky knees as you scream. You start typing and fiddling with the computers, trying to turn the damned things off, but her stare remains constant and bearing. You want to collapse again, but you will yourself to stand. Lexa doesn't blink or swallow. She just stares at you endlessly, her eyes a glazed, stormy green. You gasp as you start sobbing again. You keep looking around for Bellamy and Monty, or even Emerson, but they're all gone. They're all gone and you're alone.

"Clarke," the voice hums, "Clarke…"

"Get out of my head!" You scream to the empty air, turning around to try and face the person antagonizing you. "Please… _get out_."

You blink your eyes open again and you're in Level Five. All those that you've killed are alive now, but frozen. All of them, all three hundred and fifty people are staring at you blankly. They aren't moving or speaking, but blankly staring at you. Your body trembles in fear as you press yourself up agains the wall. While they don't respond, their eyes follow your moves, watching and haunting you as you fall to your knees again. Your tears blur your vision, but they never disappear. The children are seated in the front row, holding their friends' hands as they stare at you blankly. It's horrifying, but true.

You killed _all_ of them.

"Who we are and who we need to be to survive are two different things," Bellamy whispers. You nod your head up to see him standing with Cage and Dante, his attire identical to Emerson's guard outfit. The two men beside him say or do nothing. Bellamy only offers you a nod and grim smile. You stand and try to challenge him, to get his attention, but when you blink again, they're all gone and the bodies have returned to charred corpses.

"Please," you beg the sickness in your mind, "please stop. I'm sorry! I never asked for this."

"Clarke," the voice tickles your ear as it draws nearer, "you can do this, Clarke."

This time, when you blink, the room is bare for Lexa.

You don't crumble to your knees. You don't tremble. Instead, you grit your teeth and run towards her. She remains passive and standing, her eyes just as glazed as when she'd whispered _may we meet again_ to you on the Mountain. You approach her, but before you can speak, you wind your fist back and clock her on the jaw. Her head snaps back, but she doesn't back away. She swivels it back to face you, her expression blank again. You scream in her face and continue to rain your beating down on her. You punch her, kick her, claw at her, but she doesn't move or even bruise.

Finally, you tire out.

"You left me to die," you cry as you collapse against her front. You pound your fists against her chest. "I could've _loved_ you, Lexa!"

You sob relentlessly into her shoulder as you press yourself closer. You ache for her warmth, despite the betrayal. You crave her company, no matter how she left you alone. You want her to come back, but there is so much under the hate that you can't pick apart. You're confused by how your heart jumps when her arms slowly wind around your waist and pull you against her. You're angered at how your body relaxes when her lips find your hair. You are about to say something to her when you feel something in her hand against your back. You pull away and glance down in horror.

In her palms, is the lever.

Lexa doesn't say anything as she looks to it. You wait for a moment in a tense, lonely silence before Lexa nods her head up. You watch as she reaches into her belt and pulls out her dagger. She slowly takes one step back before she places the tip of the knife on the hollow, exposed section of her chest. You can't move as you watch her emotionlessly cut a line down her skin. Red blood oozes out and drips to the floor with the incision before she lets the knife clatter to the floor. You're crying again as you see Lexa give you one of those sad, small smiles she'd given you when you'd told her _not yet._

And then, Lexa reaches inside the cut and grabs her heart.

"What are you doing?" You ask in disbelief, trying to move to help her. But your body is frozen, your eyes forced to bear witness as Lexa lets out a small gasp (one not too dissimilar to the one she'd let out at Gustus' death) and curls her fingers. You watch the tears burn at her eyes as she pulls harshly once, before slowly removing her bloody hand. You gasp and cry out as she stands still, her heart placed in her palm as she holds it in her other hand. Lexa glances between the lever and her own heart before glancing up at you. Her eyes are as stoic as ever, but you can still see right through the mask.

"Blood for blood," she whispers quietly, extending the palm with her heart out to you. "You will take my heart, I will take your pain."

"You're a liar," you spit out incredulously as you see the still beating organ in her palm. "You're not _real_ , Lexa." Lexa's lips curl upwards in a small inch, but her eyes are sadder than before. You can see that her hand is shaking now as she pushes her heart before you, willing for you to take it. 

"Love is weakness," she murmurs quietly, glancing back down at her heart, "but I am weak for you."

_I am weak for you._

"Clarke," the voice is back in your head, a bit more urgent than before. "Clarke, you can do this."

"You left me to die," you whisper back to Lexa, but your voice is unconvincing and frail. "You… You don't-"

"I made my choice with my head and not my heart," Lexa reiterates in a soft gasp, her hand shaking harder. "I want you to have my heart, because it is no longer my own. Every choice a Commander makes should be with their head, should it not? What is the purpose of a heart, then?" You frown at her question, but you can see the conflict brewing in her stormy gaze. She blinks back tears and holds out her heart again, nodding with vigour.

"And why should I take it with me?!" You demand in a low hiss. "I have enough blood on my hands, no thanks to you."

"It is not meant to be a burden on you," Lexa whispers as she bows her head, "but on _me_."

You can't control your body as your hand reaches out and takes the faintly beating organ into your palm. You swallow thickly and stare at it with blurred vision as Lexa smiles at you mournfully. She takes the lever in her other hand and reaches for the cut on her chest. As if it were a vest, she slips the metal object inside of her and pulls it close. You gasp as she shudders on the spot, her gaze darkening with sorrow as she stares at her heart again.

" _I_ left you to die," she murmurs quietly, " _I_ made you kill them."

"Lexa, what are you-"

" _I_ forced you to kill them. Their deaths are on _me_ ," Lexa continues to tell you strongly, convincingly. " _I_ am the murderer. Like you said, Clarke of the Sky People," she whispers again as she blinks down at her heart, now stopped and still in your hands, "I am _heartless_." 

The words hit you like you've been slammed against the wall by _pauna_. Your breath leaves your lungs and Lexa smiles at you again, but you can't find the urge to speak. You feel your heart grow lighter as your blame shifts to her. You know that rationally, you would've done the same thing. You'd have forced her people to die on that Mountain just so you could've saved yours, but this, this feeling of Lexa's _actual_ heart in your hands feels far worse than having killed three hundred and fifty innocent people. You try to shake your head, but your body won't allow it. Instead, you find yourself nodding.

"It's your fault," you hear yourself saying with bitter venom, " _you_ are the reason they're dead. _You_ are the murderer. A _heartless_ murderer."

 _No_ , you scream at yourself, pleading for the words to be taken back, _no you're not. You're not heartless._

But Lexa just nods and accepts it, bearing the weight of your words as they leave your lips.

"I hate you," your lips part to whisper the words. You gasp as soon as they slip out in more force, "I _hate_ you, Lexa."

Again, Lexa nods and clenches her jaw. 

"You are weak," you hiss, but your eyes are burning with tears. Lexa nods one final time before offering one last smile.

"I am weak," she whispers before her knees crumple, "I am weak for _you_ , Clarke of the Sky People."

"Clarke," the voice pleads, further away than before, "you can do this."

You can't control your movements as you raise your leg and kick it at Lexa's chest. The woman soars backwards and lands on the ground, her eyes lifelessly staring up at the ceiling. You scream obscenities that you can't control, all while clenching her heart in your hands. You stomp on her chest, despite knowing that those dazed greens are void of life. You scream and kick and cry while your mind fights to pull you away from the damage.

But when you turn around, you're left alone in forest with no bodies to your name.

"Clarke," the voice hums, soft and sweet, "you did it."

"No," you breathe out as you sink to your knees. You look to your hands to find it pristinely white. "No, I never wanted this."

 _Please_ , you beg to the demon inside you, _please bring her back._

"Clarke," the voice calls for you, a bit louder and stronger now, "Clarke, Clarke, Clarke…"

" _Clarke_!"

You jolt awake to the sounds of someone screaming your name.

You quickly blink your eyes open to see Octavia shaking you. Your chest feels like it is covered in sweat, which when you look down, you find that it is. Your hands have cramped, presumedly from clutching onto the armrests of the chair for too long. You go to speak when a loud whimpering draws you from your dazed state. Octavia lets you go and points at Lexa, now writhing on the bed. You stand, pushing aside the sudden rush to your head.

You try to ignore how heavy your hand feels.

You quickly walk over to see Lexa's face contorted in pain, a sheen layer of sweat on her forehead that drips into her frazzled forest locks. You bolt forward instantly, placing your uninjured palm to her skin, only to retract it because it's piping hot. You tell Octavia to leave and call for Dashiq, for he is not there. Your friend nods and leaves at once, her voice ringing out in _Trigedasleng_ for the chief healer of the Boat People. You need to fetch water, perhaps a herb or antidote for a fever reliever, but you cannot move. You're still rattled from your nightmare. Your hand reaches back out and grazes the soft skin of her crown again. Lexa's protest comes in the form of an agonizing mewl, low and drawled out, followed by more rapid eye movement.

" _Beja_ ," Lexa whines in a thick wheeze. She starts coughing as she pleads agonizingly, " _b-beja em laksen, em laksen, beja…_ "

"Ssh," you whisper to her shakily, trying to ignore how wide and pained her eyes are, "it's okay, Lex. I'm going to help you, okay?"

" _Beja_ ," Lexa whimpers again as she starts coughing harder, " _b-beja… K-Kos… K-Kostia…_ "

"The blade was poisoned," Dashiq's voice, solemn and wear whispers from behind you. You don't know when he'd entered the tent, or if he'd just been here and you hadn't seen him because all you could see, feel, and touch was Lexa. Octavia grunts her arrival from behind him, staring at the fitting Commander with wide, shocked eyes. You freeze at the words, turning your head so fast you're sure you've been whiplashed. 

"But she was cut… her hands… back…," you are choking out the words in harsh, ugly sobs as you turn back to the twisting girl, "her _chest_. The infection could have spread to her lungs by now! She could have _died_." You add the word when you gaze down at the bandages, lightly yellowing with the seeping blood. The wound is indeed infected, not just by the poison, but by improper care, too. You should've seen it coming. You should've been quicker.

_Clarke… you can do this._

"I do not have the antidote," Dashiq speaks again, his voice growling out the words like he is the biggest failure of a healer to have ever existed. His tone pulls you from dwelling on the soft lull of that voice and back to the present. You know what he is meaning to say by how broken he sounds, and you know from the woman before you, Grounders are not meant to break. _But this is Lexa_ , you want to tell him as you gaze in his direction pitifully.

Lexa was _always_ broken.

"How long does she have?" You ask dryly, unsure how you can still talk with your heart rammed up in your throat. Dashiq swallows thickly, and you're almost certain that you can hear a quiet cry leave his lips, too. You focus your eyes solely on Lexa, your hand reaching down to tenderly stroke her clammy, heated skin. You are about to turn around and ask for the damned answer when he breathes out the words that crush your lungs.

"A week, maybe more," Dashiq says through clenched teeth, "but _Klark_ , she is hurt quite badly. Her body will not withstand much more." 

"We need to get her to my mom," you say with a broken, matter-of-fact tone. You ignore Octavia's gasp from behind you as you turn to face the healer with a set expression. "After we took the Mountain, there were supplies… concoctions that we can use to treat her. If we can just get her back to Camp Jaha, my mom can fix her. _I_ can fix her. I made her a promise. I need her alive." You formulate the plan without thinking, because right now, the only thought you possess is _Lexa_. You look back to Dashiq, who still remains saddened and mournful. You stand and walk up to him, grabbing his shirt. He towers over you (and you'd thought Gustus was tall), with your head barely reaching his torso, but he is not aggressive when you touch him. 

"Speak," you growl at him, clenching his tunic harder, "why won't you agree with me?!"

" _Because_ ," he says, growing weaker in your palms, "she does not have the time, _Skaï prisa_. It is a ten day ride from here to your camp."

"We leave now, then," you order him, moving around the room to start packing. "Help me gather supplies."

You glare over your shoulder to a troubled Octavia, but when you send her the silent order, she starts to maneuver around the room to gather things you might need. Satisfied that at least someone is listening to you, you turn back around and focus on finding cases, bandages, salves and throwing them into a sack with panicked movements. Your hands still shake and you're still riddled from the dream, but you need to keep calm for Lexa's sake. You cannot afford to lose this coalition, not while there is still war brewing and people dying. You refuse to add anymore names - _Lexa's_ name - to your list. Dashiq only watches you quietly and solemnly, as if unsure how to fix the slowly slipping grip you've kept on your sanity thus far.

" _Klark_ ," he tries to protest again, weaker than before. You shake your head and whirl around before he can finish his thought.

"I don't care how long it takes," you seethe as you point a finger at him, "we _will_ make time for her. She cannot die. I will not let her die, do you understand me?!" Dashiq winces as he watches your eyes fill with tears. A heartbreaking cry leaves your lips when you see how his expression darkens. Behind you, Lexa is still whimpering and weakly fitting on the bed, her fever taking her mind and body until it implodes upon itself. You don't register that you're on your knees until the bruising cold of the earth irritates your ripped pants. You look to your hands, seeing her blood all over your palms.

"She can't die," you repeat softly, tears streaking down your cheeks, " _not yet._ "

 

**Bellamy**

 

"We're doing what?!" You demand as you watch Dashiq and another healer begin to move supplies onto a cart. You'd just left to relieve yourself, and you came back to the massive healer loading crates onto a buggy. Five other _Floukru_ warriors are waiting around with their horses, packing their own supplies. The man doesn't pause in his occupation as he nods his head back to the tent, presumably where Clarke is still with Lexa.

"Heda has been poisoned by Nia's blade," he explains in short, his voice tight, "the _Skaï prisa_ wishes us to meet with your Chancellor."

"Abby?" You hear Lincoln exclaim as she approaches with another warrior from behind you. "Abby won't help Heda, she'll kill her on sight." 

"Yeah," you agree with him with a flinch, "you guys aren't really on our nice list, _especially_ not the Commander."

"I do not have the tools," Dashiq tells you with a firm voice, like he'd been trying to convince himself that this fucked up suicide plan will work, but you can see in his eyes that he, too, is fearful of the Sky People's reaction to the Commander being imposed upon them. Just as he goes to add to his answer, Clarke pops out of the tent, glaring at the three of you standing around arguing. You wince at how she looks so distressed, and you realize that you've not seen her this messed up since the Mountain. You remove yourself from Dashiq and Lincoln and walk over to her.

"Listen to me," you say softly as you approach her tentatively, "you're not thinking, Princess. You hand Lexa over to Abby and she's dead. We don't even know what's going on back at Jaha. This is more than a risk, Clarke. It's a _gamble_ with her life. Are you willing to risk that for Lexa?"

You stare into her eyes and realize that they're hollow, void of life or emotion or any sort of recognition of your presence. Yet, as soon as the Commander's name slips past your lips, her expression changes. A new determination takes over and she sets her jaw. You look to her hand, bandaged and wrapped, and sigh with defeat. You are about to speak again when she places her undamaged hand on your shoulder and squeezes tightly. Before you know it, she wraps herself around you in a tight hug, her face pressed into the crook of your neck, her lips grazing the slick skin there. You tense, but your body reacts for you, winding your arms around the lower half of her back. You can hear her heart thumping against your chest.

"If we stay, she _will_ die." Clarke's words are whispered harshly into your ear. "This is our only choice and you know it."

There's something distant and solemn about her tone, but you brush over it.

"And if Abby rejects her?" You ask, still not letting go. There are infinite conditions, though. They are questions that plague your mind, the whole _concept_ of this rushed plan. What if Lexa dies on the way there? What if the poison is incurable? What if she lives but doesn't recover fully? What if the coalition thinks it was a trap? There are so many things that could go wrong and not enough that can go _right_. You know that Clarke knows it.

But does she _accept_ it?"

"Clarke?" You ask quietly, rubbing your hand up and down her stiff spine. "What happens if Abby rejects her?"

"If she does," Clarke murmurs defeatedly in the crook of your neck, "I will kill Lexa myself."

 

**Raven**

 

You sit at the bar, watching one of the Ark kids playing at the piano. He's doing a slower rendition of an upbeat song, but it sounds so much more real. You'd never really had much in the sense of music, mostly because you'd grown up dirt poor and mother-less. You lean back in your seat as Gina, the bartender, serves you another drink. You nod your thanks before leaning the beaker up to your lips and taking a sip. The alcohol burns a path down the back of your throat, but for once, you're not drinking to distract yourself from the pain. You wonder how Abby is doing with Kane.

Scratch that, you think as your face screws up with the mental image your mind conjures, you don't want to know.

"You sitting alone?" A voice interrupts your thoughts, and you almost want to thank the person for pulling you away from wicked thoughts. You gaze to the side to see Wick standing awkwardly with a cup in his hand. You smirk and gesture with your head to the empty seat, chuckling dryly.

"Can't you see all the friends I have?" You joke, but Wick cringes anyways. For once, you're not trying to associate it with the loss of your friends. You roll your eyes good-naturedly and pat the stool next to you. He takes a seat timidly, and you actually laugh. He sees the smile that lights up your face and he grins sheepishly. You both sit in silence for awhile, watching as the boy singing starts on a new tune. You relax back against the bar, smiling.

"It's beautiful, you know." Wick's voice pulls you again from a trance. You raise a brow at him. He clears his throat to say, "your smile."

"Have you been reading some of those old romance novels that Gina brought back on her last run?" You ask sarcastically. Wick offers you a slight smile before he chuckles. His cheeks take on a slight pink tint as he avoids your eyes. You smile at him softly, reaching over to pat his shoulder.

"I didn't think it was bad," you assure him before you lean forward to adjust your brace. "I just thought it was cheesy, Enginerd."

Wick's eyes follow your movements, but he doesn't speak. You know that he still worries about you. He has every right to, really. You're still recovering from everything physically and mentally, but you're taking your steps. You talk more about what happened to Abby. You express your feelings of uselessness to Kane. You're not pushing things down as much as you used to and it's shown massive improvements in your health. There's always moments where you slip back into your familiar ways, but you're not alone to face those perils anymore. Some of your friends are gone, but not all.

"I'm okay," you say to Wick with a soft chuckle, "I swear."

Wick only nods and offers a smile as he drinks from his cup. After awhile, Monty joins you with Harper and Nathan. You notice that the two boys are closer than usual, but you don't comment on it. You only smirk at Monty when Miller nudges him for a dance when someone puts on the radio. An old jazz swing tune plays and you watch as your friends and other members of the Ark pool onto the empty space, jiving and moving their hips to the beat. At some point, a girl asks Wick to dance, but he looks hesitant to leave you. With an encouraging shove, you push him out to join her.

You sit alone, smiling peacefully, as the world goes on around you.

Eventually, you leave after passing a fond goodnight to Wick, Monty, Harper, Monroe, and Nathan. You make your way through the barracks and towards your dorm room. You glance out side the windows to where, across the courtyard and in the dim light of the window, you see Kane and Abby talking to each other. A smile is present on your adopted mother's face (because really, you're not _just_ friends) and you can't help but mirror it. You make your way back through the halls in silence, your hands tucked into your pockets as you turn another corner. You pass Captain Miller, who offers you a kind smile. He no longer pities you like he used to. You can now make out the sheer respect he has for you, a respect that lights up your heart.

Just as you're about to enter your room, you hear quiet sobbing.

The sound makes you stop and turn. You glance over your shoulder to see that the door to Jasper's room is slightly ajar. You bite your lip, swaying on your feet in contemplation. Sighing, you prod forward before knocking at the door and calling his name. Nothing answers you, so you push open the door slightly. Your heart sinks in sadness when you see Jasper curled up at the base of his bed on the floor, sobbing into his hands. You grit your teeth and limp into the room before settling down beside him silently. At first, neither of you speak, but then you lift your arm and wrap it around his shoulders. He stiffens instantly at your touch, but you remember what happened to you. This time, you're not going to let another person drown.

"I got you," you whisper to the man who'd once carried so much innocence and joy, "you're okay, Jas. It takes time. I'm sorry about Maya."

"I loved her," he chokes out as he loosens under your arm. You pull him closer and kiss the top of his head. Your thoughts are suddenly flooded with images of Finn. Despite the fact that he'd cheated on you, that he'd spilled the blood of eighteen innocents for Clarke, you miss him. You finger the necklace that you still keep close to you as Jasper's sobs grow a bit louder. You press another kiss to his head and sigh into his slightly greasy hair.

" _Love is a fickle thing_ ," you quote Aedara-Wren, " _which trickles like sand, through the curving hourglass or the outstretched hand_." Jasper quietens down, before cocking his head at you. You see his bloodshot eyes and offer a small, sad smile. He sniffles again before wiping his tears.

"Keep going," he whispers after some time. You smile again before wracking your mind for the poem your mother used to read.

" _There is a part of love that fades the burning heat and zeal, the moments that will always pass, too strong to feel. But there remains for longer, beneath the grains of dust, a deeper peace that's born of laughs and lust_ ," you continue to recount softly. You remember the familiar brush of her fingers combing through your hair, of how she'd tell you the poem every night before you'd sleep. You used to fear your mother leaving like your father, and in the end, you remember how the poems stopped after one night. You can remember which one, because the next day you came home to your place smelling like a brewery and your house a mess. The last night she read you that poem was the last night your mother told you she loved you.

" _I would not buy a thousand loves which ended in a minute_ ," you force yourself to go on, allowing this moment to fill those gaps that had once burned you to a stake. You let the words heal you instead of destroy this time. " _For time brings the greatest love of all and holds the soul within it. I've known the passions of the heart, when it seemed my smile was fixed, as if I'd drunk some sweet elixir, of wine and joy all mixed._ " Your fingers stroke through Jasper's scalp as he leans his head further upon your shoulder. You kiss his forehead again, feeling your heart lighten with the cleansing poem.

" _But now, I hold you as my temple where I can rest and find release from everything the day can bring, and all my foolishness will cease_ ," you whisper the last few verses into the darkness of the room, now significantly quieter than when it'd started. You look down to see that Jasper is asleep on your shoulder. A faint smile pulls at your lips, but you don't stop. You pull him nearer and close your own eyes, allowing a few tears to slide down your cheeks. You go back to that last night and pause yourself in the image of your mother's face smiling down at you, of her hands on your cheek.

" _Love is just our medicine, for every ill we find_ ," you breathe out, " _and you are my smooth potion, the healer of my mind._ "

 

**Lexa**

 

"Are you ready?"

You glance up to see Costia standing in the entrance of your tent, looking smaller than she ever has before. You look at your light armour on your chest, and for a moment you imagine that you are not seven summers, but thirteen - maybe even twenty. The chain mail and leather fastenings hang loosely, even though they were the smallest size Anya could find. You take a breath and shake your head, feeling the tears begin to burn behind your lids. Costia steps in and reaches for your hand, pulling you into her. She's still taller than you, but no less younger than she'd been before. You're both children playing the roles of adults in this ever changing world. You press yourself against her, closing your eyes and breathing in her scent.

"You're going to find supplies first," Costia breathes into your ear, her voice shaky but sturdy. "You need food, water, fire,  _shelter_. You have your sword, but it's not enough. You must make a bow to hunt. Remember what I taught you about the wood to use and how tightly to coil the string. Weave together leaf piles like I'd showed you so that you can keep warm at night." Her voice is trembling harder, her arms gripping you like you'll drift away should she let go. You can feel the waves of anxiety rippling off her like she's caught in the sea amidst a powerful storm. It's an unpleasant feeling because of all of you, it's Costia that's the steady one. Costia has the confidence. Costia has the grace. Costia is the quickest and wisest of all of you.

You grit your teeth, holding back your tears once more. You must be strong for _Costia_.

"They will be fighting each other, but they are older and larger than you," she says again, her mouth drawing closer to your ear, "you won't be able to fight them head on. You will keep low until they kill each other off. You are smart, Leksa, you know the trees and the forests and every inch of that land. You will find a way to stick to high ground and watch from the branches. Do not follow too closely to a group and never stay in one place. If your wounds get infected, make a salve out of the mint leaves I showed you. Their texture is felt and their colour is a soft white with a pale green. Gnaw them with your teeth and spread it with your spit into… into the wound. Wrap it… w-wrap it with a clean… clean cloth." There are tears dripping down from her eyes to land on your shoulder now, her chest shuddering as she tugs you closer and tighter to you. You weave your fingers through her tunic.

"Whatever happens out there," she whispers softly, kissing your ear, "promise me that you'll come back, Leksa. I need you to come back."

You're still quiet, letting her words sink in like an antidote to the poison that's been swimming inside you ever since you'd begun your training with Anya a year ago. You nod softly, ducking your head into her neck as she places her hands in your hair, pulling you as close as your bodies can possibly meet, like she's trying to absorb you and never let go. Costia sobs harder into you, her body shaking more violently than the trees during a thunderstorm. You refuse to cry, to fall apart, because you need strength right now, not weakness. You need to be brave so you may return and hug your best friend again. But if you keep holding her, you know that the resolve you've been trying to build for the past several days will shatter instantly. Your heart needs to be packaged away. You need your head. You take a step back from her embrace to hold your hand out, cupping her cheek. 

" _Yu laik ain_ ," you whisper, your voice steady despite your tumultuous thoughts and fears that this might be the last time you'll say it, or see her, or even feel her. You don't understand half of your feelings for Costia, and how you wish that you had time so you could. But this is your life now. "You are _mine,_ Costia." You repeat it in English as she cries and nods, weaving her hands around the back of your neck to press a kiss to your forehead.

"Yours," she echoes softly, painstakingly mournful, "I'm always yours, Leska - _forever_."

"Leksa," Anya's stern voice sounds from the entrance, pulling you both apart from each other. Costia wipes at her tears and nods at you, straightening your collar and adjusting the hilt of your sword, trying to memorize the last few touches. You give her a soft nod before walking to your mentor. 

" _Ste yuj_ ," Costia calls out to you before you leave the tent. "Come back to me, Leksa. I need you."

You never tell her, but you _do_ hear the last words she speaks before you leave.

" _Ai hodnes_."

"You are ready," Anya tells you proudly as Costia's final farewell sinks into the pit of your heart. The words wedge themselves inside before you can seal it up. Anya squeezes your shoulder, though you can see the underlying tone of worry in her eyes as you both approach your drop point. Luna stands at the front of the forest, and you glance up at Anya. She gives you a slight nod and you bound forward, nearly crashing into your _nomon's_ knees.

"I'm scared," you whisper out as she holds you close. The threads on your heart threaten to come undone, but you refuse to crumble. You swallow down the urge to cry as you feel her arms wrap around you tenderly. Luna kisses your temple and rubs your back before pulling away to cup your cheeks.

"You are strong," she tells you gently, offering an encouraging smile. "You will be back here in my arms before you know it. Costia and Anya have taught you well, _ai yongon_. Now it is up to you to make us proud, okay? We are going to wait here for your return. You are so brave, _ai Aleksandria_."

You nod and take a deep breath, channeling those words into a new fire. Luna kisses your forehead again before giving you a final embrace. "Be _brave_ , my girl." The words are whispered quietly into your ear before she rises. You look away when she wipes away her tears and stands. She murmurs out a soft, " _ai hod yu in_ ", before she turns towards the camp where Costia waits. You know why she had to leave. She could not offer you weakness.

" _Ai hod yu in, nomon_ ," you whimper as she retreats out of sight. You take a deep breath and watch as Anya steps forward and places her hand on your shoulder again. She guides you to the ridge where you are about to start. It finally sinks in, as you stare into the vast forest before you, that this is it.

You passed the strategy games. You excelled at tactics. You're fluent in English. You identified objects from Heda's childhood.

Now it's just you and twelve other ascendants.

(But, with a sinking feeling in your gut, you know there will only be _one_ at the end of this.)

"I am going to die, aren't I?" You ask Anya quietly, glancing up at her. You are alone with her now, waiting for the sound of the horn to signal the start of the test. You wish that you could take her with you. Anya protects you like no other. You're shaking, despite your best efforts not to, but Anya is smart. She holds your shoulder firmly with a strong hand, causing your head to nod back upwards to face her calming dark eyes. The tears are really burning, but she shakes her head so you hold them back. She squeezes your shoulder again, a little tighter this time, and takes a deep breath before she speaks.

"Death is not the end, Leksa," she tells you with a steady voice. "But you shall not face death today."

"How do you know?" You ask, your voice trembling and threatening to break with each second that slips closer to the horn. Anya only gives you a tight-lipped smile before she kneels. One of her hands reaches for yours, opening it up and holding it out so your palm faces the endless blue of the sky. You gasp, because in all your meetings, she has never once met your eye-level like she is now. You stare at her and she swallows hard. She's trying to keep it together, but she hides it better. She is stoic and strong, rooted to the ground in the same way your _nontu_ once was.

"You were born for this," she whispers, reaching out to squeeze your thin bicep. You cock your head, sniffling.

"For what?" You choke out as you feel colder and smaller. 

Then, the horn blows.

You want to cry, but Anya's grip on your arm prevents you from moving at all. For a moment, you think that she'll break her stoic character and hug you, but she does not. No, she simply stares at you, her own eyes threatening to mist as she reaches behind her for her beloved dagger. You can see her hand almost shake as she takes the weapon and reaches for your hand. You watch with wide, round eyes as she peels back your fingers and places the hilt of the blade into your palm before closing your hand around it in a fist. You glance up at her with shock, but she only nods proudly.

"For leadership, Leksa," she whispers before standing and turning you towards the forest. "For _greatness_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRANSLATIONS:
> 
> Branwada - idiot/fool  
> Mela op, blinka au - heads up, eyes open  
> Sis, en's ogoud sis, yu ste klir - sister, everything's okay, you're safe  
> Beja biyo moba - please forgive me  
> Em laksen - it hurts  
> Kom houm - come home  
> Ai hod yu in - I love you  
> Em gonplei nou ste odon nowe - her fight is not over  
> Skaï prisa - Sky Princess  
> Yu laik ain - you are mine  
> Ste yuj - be strong  
> Ai hodnes - my love  
> Nomon/Nontu - Mother/Father  
> Ai yongon - my child
> 
> The poem Raven reads is by Aedara-Wren, called "[Love is a Fickle Thing]".
> 
> Okay, so I always imagined the ascension test (or at least the final portion of it) being like the Hunger Games in the sense that people enter but only one comes out alive. Like I said, this is gonna have practically no relevance to season three - because I know that we're supposed to find out how the Commanders are chosen - because I wrote this a while ago it's mostly of my own thoughts/beliefs. I am probably way off, lol.
> 
> Thanks so much for sticking through these hella long chapters. I apologize about their length - I have issues and one of the major ones is word count, lol. Please let me know your thoughts or opinions! I really enjoy reading what you beautiful and amazing people have to say :) I appreciate it all!
> 
> Cheers! :)


	10. i should have quit, but instead i took care of you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i didn't believe them when they told me there's no saving you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: ORIGINAL CHARACTER DEATH, VIOLENCE AND BLOOD/GORE.
> 
> So I am thinking that I may change the trigger warnings for this story in a bit. I know that there's the Rape/un-planned pregnancy in the trigger, but I am thinking that maybe I might cut it out. I don't know yet as of what I want to do, but I think it's a possibility. I know that this story is pretty dark and a lot of people are easily turned off by mentions of Rape (understandably so), so I might cut that part out. It's still not gonna happen for a VERY VERY long time, but I have time now to think about it, I think.
> 
> As for this chapter, my medical knowledge is pretty bare to almost none (okay that's a bit of a lie) but this chapter might be unrealistic at a certain section in Octavia's POV. Also this includes more of Lexa's flashbacks, so I hope y'all don't mind the extra lengths on her parts. Like I said before, I honestly think that the ascension test would be like the Hunger Games in my opinion, but we'll soon find out in S3.
> 
> Thanks so much for the comments and feedback! Honestly, you guys are super nice, even though only so few of you comment :P It's like I'm getting to know y'all a bit better now :D To those of you that leave kudos as well -- thank you so, so much! You're all incredible people for giving this fic some love.
> 
> The chapter title/summary comes from the song "Kettering" by The Antlers.
> 
> **EDIT: TAGS HAVE CHANGED | RAPE/UNPLANNED PREGNANCY HAS BEEN REMOVED**

 

**Lexa**

 

You creep over an overturned tree and crawl your way down to a ravine. You've been in these woods for a week and so far have been lucky enough to not have encountered the other ascendents. You have heard a few and followed one group, but you cannot stomach to watch them ruthlessly kill each other in cold blood. Some of the attempts of murder are sly and dishonourable in your eyes, but to the Heda, this is just another form of entertainment.

You dip the small receptacle hanging from your satchel into the small lake. It's getting colder now, no doubt a precursor to the winter that's about to befall the woods. The prey is scarce, but you managed to scavenge as best as you can after some of the other groups. You sigh as you feel your side ache with the bend as you stiffen your spine and press the container to your lips. Some water dribbles out the corner of your mouth but you manage to get most of it down your throat. You finish drinking and fill up the metal container before pocketing it back into your bag. 

You grab at the dagger Anya had given you and quickly tear off a hole in your tunic. You gasp when you look between the torn fabric at the bruising in your side. You warily graze your fingers over the patch and bite down a hiss. You gaze upwards and stare into the glinting sun, but it gives you no warmth as it filters through the bare tree branches. You lean back against the trunk of the tree closest to you before rummaging around in your bag for some of the salve you'd made earlier. Your fingers shake as you pull out the container and unscrew the lid.

" _Skirsh_ ," you growl as you apply some of the balm to the contorted muscle. You continue rubbing it, ignoring the splitting ache that comes from the possibly broken rib. You hear something crack in the distance and snap your eyes open. You freeze on the spot, your hand still clutching the balm.

"What about the youngest one?" A low voice hisses from behind the tree. You stifle your gasp and press yourself harder against the bark. You pray to the Spirits that they do not discover you, not while you are injured and so clearly unarmed. You wait a few moments before there's a gruff bark. _Wolves?_ You think to yourself as you hear panting in the distance. The owner of the voice doesn't appear to have moved, but you can feel the tension in the silence.

"We leave her for the dogs," another voice, a female this time. "The _branwada_ will get herself killed. She's not a worry to us."

"You're sure about that?" The male responds with a scoff. "Some of the generals are already calling her-"

"She's not going to be," the girl snarls in response. You hear the brandishing sound of a blade leaving its sheath and you hold back your whimper. They are quiet once more, but you can still hear the distant barking of the wolves nearing your proximity. You cannot leave now, not without being spotted. You must remain quiet and still, but the pressure threatens to asphyxiate you. The barking is closer, rougher than before.

 _Please_ , you beg to whomever is listening, _do not let me die this way._

You close your eyes and think of Costia, or Luna and Dashiq, of your _nontu_ and Anya.

 _Please_.

"You think that they will find us?" The male asks again roughly, his voice lower than before. "Five are already confirmed dead. Before long it will be just you, me, and the pathetic girl." The female ascendent snorts before muttering something in _Trigedasleng_ , in a dialect not familiar to your own tongue. That's when it hits you, just where these two potential Commanders are from. You want to cry at the realization, for it drowns you in fear.

 _Azgeda_.

"She's out here," the girl snarls with a rough snap, her footsteps drawing closer to your hiding spot. "I want her blood. I am destined for this role."

"Shiara," the boy whispers quietly as you hear the barking increase. "Your mother-"

"My mother is a Queen and rightfully so," Shiara spits out with hostility, "I have to follow in her footsteps."

A branch snaps in two, right above the ridge where you are hiding.

You cock your head to the side to see that there are small rocks crumbling down the side of the overturned tree. For now, your size allows you to shrink against the bark. The mud on your face, courtesy of Anya's many lessons regarding stealth, provides adequate covering should she not step closer. You can make out the dirty blonde hair atop the girl's face. She looks about twelve or thirteen summers years old. You gulp when you see the blood covering her sword and the glint in her dark eyes. She looks ruthless, ready to kill anyone in her way. You wonder why she lets the boy stick with her.

And then, you find out.

"Wolves!" The boy cries out as a sudden snarling erupts from the leaves. You jolt from your position at the tree and run as you hear the barking and screaming of the boy. Shiara doesn't seem to be giving out any notions of pain, and it's only when you cock your head over your shoulder, you see that she's following you with a sly, sadistic grin. You watch as she raises her sword, leaving the boy to be eaten alive by the monsters of the forest.

"You're mine, Tree Girl." Her words are coated in menace as she chases you through the underbrush. You slide under a ridge and then trace back the way to your hideout. You know that if Shiara is who she claims to be, the daughter of the Ice Queen and the only ascendant to the throne, you know that she cannot climb. Her territory does not have sufficient bark for climbing, nor are her trees tall or sturdy enough to be mounted. You suck in the pain driving from the base of your ribs up to your throat and let out a ferocious cry. You pump your legs as fast as you can before you finally reach the tree.

Before you can grab onto a branch, you're tackled to the ground by Shiara. Her rough shove is so harsh that it sends you both rolling down a hill, clawing and gripping at each other at the best of your abilities. You feel your head smack against something hard before you are thrown from her grip. You yelp as you tussle and fall for awhile until your body grows still. You blink open your eyes to see Shiara across from you, her arm bent at an awkward angle and her face covered in blood. You can feel the same sticky liquid dripping down your left temple as you try to rise.

Dizziness overwhelms you immediately, drawing you into a kneeling position. You fumble for your dagger, but the sound of Shiara groaning snaps you from your mission. You see her roll onto her back, her eyes cracked open halfway as she glares into the receding sunlight. You feel an ounce of pity slice through your gut as she whimpers with the slightest movement from her broken arm. A splinter of the bone sneaks out from cracked skin, causing you to nearly retch at the gory sight. You hear another harshly muted gasp of pain before you decide to take action.

"Let me help," you say quietly as you crawl over to her. Shiara doesn't move, her eyes glassy as she glares at you. With a trembling hand, you reach out and maneuver her arm gently so it sits over her chest. You reach into your bag (which somehow stayed on your body as you'd fallen) and grab at a piece of long cloth. Shiara's eyes follow your movements as you tie up her arm and before reaching for two small twigs. You pull out your dagger and start to cut at them, scraping away at the wood so you can make a makeshift splint. Once the work is done, you tie the two branches to her broken forearm.

"Your weakness will get you killed," Shiara snarls at you, though her voice cracks with pain. You merely shrug and sit backwards.

"I'm going to die anyway, aren't I?" You ask back, your eyes calm and stoic. "I would rather die a martyr than a murderer."

"You're a fool, girl." Shiara grunts the words with exhaustion as she struggles to sit up. You help prop her up against a tree before you sheath your dagger, showing her that you are not going to fight or bring her harm. Shiara watches you before she mutters, "you should have left me to die."

"I'm sorry about your mother," you mumble quietly, watching as her dark eyes widen with anger. Shiara snarls and tries to reach for you, but her lack of strength prevents her from moving forward. Instead, she lets out a hiss of pain and looks away, tears burning in her eyes with your apology.

"You don't know anything about my mother," she growls softly, though you can hear the pain in the words. "I will make her proud."

"Your arm is broken," you say instead, calm as always. "You cannot move because you are bleeding."

"Then kill me, _goufa_!" Shiara snaps at you, her eyes flitting with fury and disappointment. "I am not an invalid! I will die a warrior's death!"

"I told you," you say as you reach up and wipe away a few streaks of blood from her forehead, "I don't want to kill you."

" _Skirsh_ ," she laughs sarcastically, shaking her head. "I don't know what the generals see in you. All you want is peace."

"Is that a bad thing?" You ask her back, quietening your voice as though others may be listening. "Is it so bad to want to not fight? I know our ways, that our tradition is lined with blood and death, but we do it to survive. Children are raised to be warriors from birth. We do not play or experience love and joy for the fear of being hunted. Tell me, what would a world look like without the bloodshed and betrayal? In which our _yongons_ can run through the forest or dig their toes in the sands without being killed? What would a world look like without fear? Without death? With _peace_?"

"You are a child," Shiara mutters, but her tone is less reprimanding this time, "I wouldn't expect you to understand."

"I watched my father die," you tell her as you lean against the opposite tree. "My mother left me for _pauna_ in the forest. I understand death."

"I…," Shiara trails off as she looks over to you. Then, she bows her head solemnly. "I know. My mother burned your village."

You can't help the flinch that you release when she echoes the words to you. Images of your father's dead body and your home being burned flash through your mind. Tears make their way to your eyes, but you fight them down. You can hear Anya in the back of your head, telling you strictly that now is not the time for weakness. So, you harden up and place your mask back above your eyes. You will not let their deaths haunt you.

(But you are _always_ haunted.)

"Your mother fears me," you say instead, keeping the tremor out of your voice. "She thinks I am to be Heda when you should be."

"Do you think you can beat them?" Shiara chuckles dryly, nodding her head to you. "They are better at fighting than you."

"They are," you agree with her with a small nod, "but I do not fight with my hands or my sword. I fight with my head."

"And what kind of talent is that, _goufa_?" Shiara asks, but she is not trying to scold you. There's curiosity in her voice that makes you smile. You stand up slowly, glancing around at your surroundings. Night will be falling soon, and if you are not careful, the cold will kill both of you before anyone else.

"One that will be keeping you alive. You sacrificed that boy to escape the wolves and kill me," you say as you glance down at her. Shiara's eyes narrow and she cocks her head up, a faint smirk playing at her chapped lips. You see a bed of moss over by the smaller trees and walk over to it. You remember Costia's teachings as you weave together the spongy grass until it forms a makeshift blanket. You bring your creation back to a wary Shiara.

"Why trust me?" Shiara asks as you lay the mossy pelt over her. "I could kill you in your sleep, _gada_."

"I believe that you might be deaf," you chuckle as you lay back against your own tree, reaching inside your pack for your own blanket. "I told you that I do not fear death. I came into this test accepting my fate. You know what I want, but I do not believe you know what _you_ want." Shiara frowns.

"I want to be Heda," she growls as she shifts under the moss. You scoff, raising your brow.

"You want to be Heda or your _mother_ wants you to be Heda?" You ask in return. The look on her face reveals all as she bites her lip. You can see the conflict brewing in her dark eyes at the realization, but you cannot bring yourself to prod further. Not when she takes a breath and closes her eyes. Her hands tremble and you can see that she's fighting back every ounce of emotion pulling at her to simply let go. Your heart aches for her in this moment.

"Do you want to be Heda?" She asks instead, her voice quiet and small, so unlike what she'd used when taunting you earlier. You freeze up at the question, before pondering it in deliberation. You gaze out over the treetops to see the sun beginning to set behind the mountains. You sigh and blink slowly. Your hands miss the feel of Costia's skin. Your forehead misses Luna's affectionate kisses. Your back misses Anya's encouraging pats. 

You eyes miss your father's proud gaze as he'd died in front of you.

"I want peace," you answer softly, "and if being Heda requires that, then yes, I will make that sacrifice."

"Yet you cannot kill me," Shiara counters in confusion. "You realize that Heda requires making hard choices? It requires death, _gada_."

"Yes," you say, nodding in agreement as you push your father's last image from your mind. "But I don't know how to kill yet."

Shiara doesn't respond, and instead she looks up at the stars starting to form in the sky. For a moment, neither of you are enemies destined to kill each other. You are just two girls in the woods, staring up at the sky with no burdens or expectations from their people. You wonder if Shiara ever wanted to be something other than a warmonger like her mother. You know of the Queen's ruthlessness, but you never thought you'd see how it'd affected her children. This is why you hate the ways of your people. They are not given a choice in their own lives, much like you haven't been given a choice in your own.

"You will," Shiara mumbles tiredly as she glances at you with a faint nod, "when the time is right."

Neither of you speak after that. Fatigue succumbs you as you both rest against the tree, praying that no one will come to harm you that night. You dream of Costia and sweet things, of returning back to your camp healthy and happy. Your dreams allow you to ignore that the only way of returning to your home is with a new title. A title that bears a greater weight than any other. A title forged from the pits of the underworld that comes with the biggest sacrifice. Your heart is too big to take a life, but your mind knows that you cannot allow the injustice to go on forever. If a coalition within the clans requires you to cut out your heart and serve it to your people, to allow your soul to be bound indefinitely to theirs, then that is what you shall do.

You will wage peace, not war.

But, when you wake, Shiara is gone and all that's left is a sword.

 

 **Lincoln**  

 

You ride beside Octavia, keeping a careful eye on the buggy behind you. Inside, the most precious cargo is resting, her breath faltering with each minute that passes. You bow your head and keep your gaze steady, trying to ignore how your heart aches deeply inside your chest. Octavia is quiet as she rides Helios through the trees. You allow her to scout ahead with a firm nod when she glances over towards you. Just as she leaves you are greeted by the face of the guard walking beside you. Her eyes are young and her jaw firm. She reminds you of a younger looking Costia, but with dark hair.

"Who are you?" You ask as she glances over to you. She gulps and lowers her hood, revealing a scar jutting up from her cheek to her forehead on the left side. She glances back at Dashiq, but the healer gives her a gentle nod. She walks over so she may stay near your horse. She grips her sword tightly.

" _Kaede kom Floukru_ ," she says assuringly, though there's a nervous flicker to her voice. "I was Luna's _seken_. You are?"

" _Linkon kom…_ ," you don't finish the statement, and it nearly breaks you. Kaede's eyes flicker with uncertainty, but you push your namesake away to distract yourself with the presence of this girl. She seems about eighteen, maybe a summer younger. You hate how you all start so young.

"It's okay," she murmurs quietly, "I do not mean to pressure you. I know of you, _Linkon_. You helped fell the Mountain with the _Skaï prisa_."

"Not quite," you say in return, wistfully glancing at the trees. "I killed the man who turned our people into Reapers, nothing more. The mountain's falling came by Octavia and Clarke's hand, as well as the other Sky People that went back into the Mountain with their friends." Kaede digests your words with a thick swallow, her eyes wandering upwards to find Octavia's back, stiff and firm as she trots through the woods with the scouts.

"She is your _houmon_?" Kaede asks with a soft hum. You smile at the thought of one day asking Octavia for a formal union, but you want to wait until your sister is alive and well before you can ask her. Kaede waits patiently for your answer as you lose yourself in your thoughts. You sigh after sometime before you shake your head at her wistfully. "No," you respond as you glance back at Octavia with a distant smile, "not yet, at least."

"She is a fine warrior," Kaede comments, "I fought with her when the missile hit TonDC. She is brave. Loyal. She would make a great Heda."

"How dare you?!" You snarl as you stop your horse. Kaede's eyes widen with the realization of what she's said. You slide of your horse and reach for her, but she makes no attempt to fight. There is raw fear in her eyes, a fear that you'd seen in Octavia's own green eyes when she'd seen you as a Reaper. You let go of Kaede's collar and shove her away, straightening your back. The entire convoy has stopped and is looking at you as you scowl at her.

"I did not mean to question the Heda," Kaede whimpers softly, pressing herself against the tree, "I swear, I meant no disrespect."

"Any word against Heda is seen as treason," you growl at her menacingly. You feel your fingers clenching into fists as you find yourself flashing back to when you'd smashed Lexa into the wall. Your anger burbles inside of you like a volcano, just waiting to burst. Kaede holds back her tears and nods, holding her hands out in submission as she goes to accept her punishment. You can hear Dashiq behind you, trying to tell you to calm down, but your rage burns brighter than anything. You reach for your sword and draw it out, holding it up and against the neck of the terrified younger girl.

"Lincoln stop this," Octavia's voice pulls you away from your swirling frustration. You glance to the side to see that she's put her hand on your sword. Tears well in her eyes and you can make out that same expression she'd had on her face when she'd found you in the tunnels with Bellamy. The man in question stands behind her protectively, though there's a glimmer of understanding in his dark eyes. You swallow thickly and sheathe your sword.

"No more stopping the convoy," you order to the scouts and then turn to Kaede so you can hiss, "consider this a warning."

" _Sha_ ," she says with a low whimper before following one of the scouts. Dashiq climbs down from the buggy and glances to you, but you shake your head and beckon with your hand to keep going. He sighs and sits back atop the carriage and flicks the reigns of the horse, bringing it forward. Bellamy follows, sensing that you may want some time alone with your sister. You wait until they are out of earshot before you sigh and relax your shoulders.

"What was that about?" Octavia asks you quietly, her hand coming up to brush your arm. You don't answer with words. You can't possibly formulate a reason why you had an outburst, but Octavia is smart. She sees right through your facade as she gulps and leans her head upon your shoulder.

"I don't want anyone thinking that the Commander is going to be replaced anytime soon." You almost spit the words out. You're scared but you won't admit it. To you, Lexa is someone that has always been immortal in the eyes of her people, and at times, in your own eyes. You swallow thickly and push down the niggling urge to catch up to the convoy and slip inside the buggy just to make sure she's still breathing.

"Lexa's strong," Octavia hums as she winds her arms around you, "you know this, Linc."

"I know," you admit defeatedly, "but she's hurt, O. Really hurt."

"Abby will fix her," Octavia tells you as she reaches for your hand. "She's the best healer we have."

"That's if Abby takes her in," you mutter with disdain, ripping your hand away. You turn your back on her and head to follow the line of soldiers escorting their wounded Commander back to Camp Jaha. Octavia sighs from behind you as she remounts her horse and follows. You reach your own horse and saddle up before kicking at his sides lightly. The two of you trot at a slow pace, but manage to catch up to the convoy.

"It's Clarke," Octavia whispers after sometime, "she'll do anything for Clarke."

"Not after what Lexa did to Clarke. _Your_ people don't understand Lexa's decision," you snap at her, feeling your blood boil. Everything you've said to her so far is ironic. Months ago, you didn't understand Lexa's decision. You hated her like Abby and the rest of the Sky People probably hate her. You are conflicted on the inside, your mind waging a war that you were never fit to battle. Suddenly, you find yourself understanding Lexa. Octavia frowns and eases up on the reigns of her horse, slowing Helios down to a walk. Her glare is smouldering, it's one that makes you sigh and look away in shame.

" _Our_ people, Lincoln. We're a part of the coalition now," she tells you bristly, shaking her head. "I'm here for you as your girlfriend, not your punching bag. I know you're worried about Lexa, but we can't do anything to help her until we get there, okay? You need to keep yourself ready for anything."

 _You need to be ready if she dies,_ is what she doesn't say. You hear it all too clearly.

You're not stupid.

You just don't want to believe in death anymore.

 

**Clarke**

 

"It is getting dark," Dashiq murmurs as he holds back a yawn, "the guard must take rest soon."

"Then I will ride through the night to Jaha by myself if you can't keep up," you mutter stubbornly through the small gap in the buggy. It's a cramped space, but it's enough for both you and Lexa to fit. She's turned a paler shade of yellow now, her sun-kissed skin having melted away from the effects of the poison. Her skin looks so sickly, it almost makes you want to gag. Dashiq grunts and sighs, cocking his head so he can spare you a frown. 

"It is not safe in this woods to travel alone," he tells you quietly, glancing at his other warriors. "Besides, you cannot heal her if you are tired."

"Her fever is rising, Dashiq," you growl threateningly as you skirt your palm over her forehead again. "We have to move quicker." 

"We are already two days ahead of schedule,  _prisa_. The guard have not slept in a long time. If we are attacked, all of this will be for nothing. A warrior knows when to take rest, a fool chooses to ignore it. Please, _Klark kom Skaïkru_ , do not be a fool right now," Dashiq urges you with a calm, steady voice. He's trying to be rational, to remind you that others exist outside of yourself and the girl in the buggy. But, you don't want to listen to him.

"But it's not just that," Dashiq says with a soft grunt, "she needs her dress changing, too."

You glance back to Lexa and sigh, praying to whatever God exists in the world that she makes it through. Hesitantly, you allow yourself to bark out a soft agreement to the experienced healer. Dashiq thanks you kindly, but his words are sad, obviously just as plagued with guilt, too. He says something to the others in _Trigedasleng_ , and the buggy rolls to a calm halt. You watch as the doors on the side open, with Octavia and Lincoln staring back at you sympathetically. There's a flash of uncertainty in the man's gaze as he glances at Lexa, but he shoves it down so he can help you. You accept the Grounder's hand as he helps you out of the cramped space before gazing over at the trembling Commander with worry sparking those deep brown eyes.

"I'll refill the canteens at the river," he tells you softly, hiding his pain as he reaches for the pouches by the corner of the cart. Octavia watches back with a mournful expression, but she sighs and then glances back at you for further instruction. You beckon your head to Lexa back in the cart.

"We need to set up the tarp," you say dryly, glancing over at Bellamy. The man nods and the three of you quickly set up a sheet along a soft, dry piece of grass. The ground is cold, too cold for Lexa to sleep on without a proper tent. Because you'd been in such a rush to leave, you'd packed light and couldn't afford the luggage that came with a tent. You instead grab for a few of the furs inside the buggy and lay them down.

"Alright Princess," Bellamy murmurs as he nods to Lexa. "Ready to get her out?"

You nod in silence as the three of you go back and gently pry Lexa from the cart. In the pale moonlight, you can see that her veins are protruding from under her skin in a gross mess of black and blue. You hod back the urge to retch as you help your friend and his sister lay Lexa down on the ground. You adjust a few of the furs to rest over Lexa's waist, leaving her torso open for you to glance at. Her bandages are sodden by sweat and blood, but you know that it is not ending anytime soon. The more time you spend resting, the less time she is given to live.

"Anything else?" Bellamy asks softly, laying his hand on your shoulder. You're lost in Lexa's motionless frame but you manage to shake your head. He grunts and orders something to Octavia about going for a hunt. You only nod as they go to slink off, but not before Dashiq joins him with a handful of other water skins. You muse for a moment about how this man who'd once hated Grounders now works with them like brothers. Even Octavia, who had her issues with you and even her own brother, is as helpful like she's your best friend again. You stare at her as she places her hand on your back, knowing that words cannot give any more comfort than a lingering touch. You only nod because you know if you use words, you will break. 

While the men set up camp and Octavia goes off with Bellamy to hunt, you start the redressing of Lexa's wounds. Dashiq had helped you with cleaning them, but you could tell that he'd been exhausted by the day's riding, so you told him you could handle putting on a few bandages while he rested. He murmurs his thanks, saying he will grab some water for you and Lexa before taking his rest. As he leaves you alone, you allow yourself to take it all in. The forest is gorgeous. The bioluminescent bugs and animals beginning to light up like they'd done before when things were not complicated. You remember how Finn had made you laugh, or how you'd seen the awe and wonder in the face of a boy that was almost always innocent.

You know he's gone, but you still miss him.

You miss Wells, too. You wonder how he would've reacted to all of this. He was always like Lincoln, a pacifist whereas Finn was a peacemaker. Wells was the strongest man you'd ever met, bare for your father. He carried your burdens inside of him like it belonged there. You laid your hate onto him so that you could live with a clear mind. If anything makes you the slightest bit happy is that you had forgiven him, that he had forgiven _you_ , before he'd died. As you feel some of the moist blades of grass in your palms from where you sit, you can't help but be reminded of all the things he once was.

And things he'll never be.

Whimpering tears you away from your nostalgic thoughts. You glance down at Lexa now, her body still burning like an infinite pyre of regret. Her eyelids are flickering, notifying you of another potential nightmare threatening to wake her. As you trail your cool fingers over her scalding skin, you feel your heart thud violently inside of your chest. There are a million reasons why you could leave her to die, but there are a million and one reasons why you shouldn't. The rational part of you knows it's because no other Heda would be able to protect you if she was lost. But the seemingly softer, more reserved part that only she brought out, screams at you for it to be something more. You asked her yourself, if life was about deserving better than just survival. You'd not seen her eyes as she'd answered you, with that slight hitch in her voice as her palm had grazed your cheek and pulled you in for the softest of kisses, that _maybe we do_. You remember how the great Commander of the Twelve Clans let her guard down for you - no, she didn't just do that. She tore down every titanium wall around her heart and left herself bare so you may see that she, too, loves and breathes for something other than death. The way she'd paused, to let you take the reigns in the rarest form of submission, was what caused you to fall for her in the first place.

But are you still in love with her?

You don't want to reply to the question.

(You already know the answer.)

You shake yourself from the internal battle and focus back on Lexa. You sigh as you reach out, wiping your hands with an alcoholic rag before reaching for her bandages. You start peeling them off, ignoring the blatant stench of infection that wafts off them. You discard them in a special bag before reaching for another alcoholic rag. You start to clean her cuts and wounds, trying your best to not aggravate her stitches. They seem to be held together well, after a rushed cauterization two days ago due to her fitting once more. Her shoulder is almost closed, but her chest still remains an anomaly. Those stitches cannot be cauterized due to the massive length of the cut, and what with the infection, she might risk further harm than good.

You grab the salve and roll some over the giant slice in the middle of her chest, sighing as you fight back tears. The edges around the line are a deep, sickly green. No matter how hard you try to clean it, it only comes back in full. The pus had come four nights ago, to which Dashiq says she's lucky considering at this rate, the Commander should have been long dead. There are spores around some of the bigger clumps of pus that made you gag and vomit the first time you'd seen it two nights ago. Her fingernails are yellowing and when you'd opened her eyes last night, a few capillaries had burst to make her look like an alien, maybe even a Reaper. Luckily, her pupils still dilated in the light, ensuring that her brain wasn't dead. It's been a harsh fight, one that has pushed you as well as her. You take out your sterilized knife and look at the largest spore upon the top half of her chest, right where the edge of her left breast, and you prepare to cut it. Before you can slice it off, you see a bubbled scar over the smooth skin of her breast.

It's only when you peer closer, you notice that it's the letter _C_ messily carved into her skin.

"Costia," you breathe out with a harsh cough, going to lean back from shock. But, as you do, you see another _C_ right next to it, smaller and cracked, like she couldn't finish the carving. You can't help yourself as you reach out and graze it with the pad of your finger softly. It's fresher than the bigger _C_. 

"Clarke," you murmur your own name as you bow your head. The information rattles you, sends shivers and tingles down your spine as you realize that she must've taken the blade to her chest after leaving you at the Mountain. The very thought of Lexa standing alone, carving the letter of your name into heart serves to remind you her feelings exist despite her unwillingness to let them show.

She she loves, she hurts, she feels, she bleeds, and one day, she will die. 

 _But not today_ , you remind yourself of your mantra,  _not yet._

" _Klark_ ," you hear her voice, like a ghost in the back of your head. It mocks you with its taunting leer. You want to chuckle, because she's not been awake for almost a week. You don't even know if she'll ever wake. Then again, it repeats softer and more heartbreaking than before, " _Klark_." 

You nod your head up to glare at her head for mocking, but then you gasp. 

Her eyes are open, staring, wide-eyed, and they are bleeding.

" _Klark_ ," she rasps, blood pooling at her lips, " _Klark, beja, Klark._ "

Each repetition of her name is frantic and hysterical and you freeze in panic. Her pupils are nearly black with dilation as she starts to writhe. She's still staring at you, repeating your name through each gurgling breath, her chest rising and falling faster into the point of hypertension. You snap out of your trance, out of her haunting gaze, and grip her shoulders. A scream parts through her mouth that nearly drowns you in its horrifying agony. She's trying to fight you, but her body is too weak to shove you off. More cries spill from her lips as Lexa's chest jerks up with each pained heave. She starts to fit on the sheet you've laid out for her, her body freezing and muscles tensing. You already know what is about to happen next as you look into her wide, fearful eyes. You scream for help, for Dashiq, Bellamy - for anyone. Lexa's spine stiffens and her body contorts awkwardly.

" _Klark_ ," she wheezes as blood spills from her lips, " _Klark, beja sis ai au, beja em laksen… Klark._ "

"Ssh, Lexa, I know it hurts. I'm going to help you," you say in a hushed whisper as she squirms again, crying out in more pain. Her fever is near scalding now. You use another dry rag to wipe away the rolling beads of sweat that disappear into her ratty hair. "Please, just stay still. Let me help."

"Klark," Lexa coughs between mouthfuls of blood, _"Klark… ai gonplei-_ "

"No!" You snarl viciously, tears burning at your eyes as she flits her wide-eyed and glassy gaze over to you, "no, you are _not_ dying, Lexa."

Lexa is staring at you, but her eyes show a different story. She's not here, just like she's not been here for the past week and a half. You know that she could very well be telling the truth, and that all of this pain could be preventing her from the peace of death. You pity her for a moment, and the fleeting though crosses your mind as you glance to your knife, that you could end this misery for her now. But then the betrayal is there, the searing image of her turning her back on you as she'd left you to die on the Mountain burns through your mind and you shake your head. Lexa's body convulses again and you put the knife away, reaching for her collar where there is no visible injury. You hold her down and glare at her through your blurred vision.

"Stop moving. You're going to get yourself in more pain if you do, Lexa. Just listen to me for once," you order to her, wishing you could be stronger, you could rip the poison out but you know that she's only getting worse. "Please," you beg as you hold her shoulders tighter. Your hands are shaking, not from your own frustration. You look into her bloodshot eyes, in some blind hope that she will see you and listen to you as she always had. Instead, however, Lexa hisses and mewls in pain, thrashing yet again. You feel one of your palms become wet as you struggle with holding her down. You follow the sensation to see her bandaged shoulder bleeding through the new dressing. You swear and jerk that hand back, but Lexa's body only contorts again, a high-pitched gasp parting her lips. The pained sound twists your gut, but luckily you don't have to deal with it all alone anymore.

"What happened?!" Dashiq asks, eyes wide with fear as he sees the state of the fitting Commander. He drops the water skins and maneuvers around so he can get a better look at Lexa. You shake your head and begin to tremble, and before you know it, Bellamy's arms are around you and pulling you away as Lexa continues to jerk erratically on the ground. Octavia's jaw is dropped as she stares on in disbelief. Lincoln's eyes are wide and he looks about ready to drag Dashiq away from Lexa's writhing body, but a strong hand by his girlfriend holds him back from moving. Then, Octavia gasps.

"Wait," she blurts out, "she's having a seizure!"

You _know_ that she's going to have a seizure, because you understand the tonic-clonic phasing. But you'd been too frozen to acknowledge it. You were so caught up in Lexa dying in front of you that you couldn't leap into action. You promised you'd heal her, but here you are, freezing up. Having had enough of the internal turmoil, you violently rip yourself free of Bellamy's arms with a scream as another helpless hiss of ' _Klark_ ' is pursed through those bloodied, chapped lips. You reach inside the medical kit and pull out a tongue depressor before hastily shoving it between her lips. Instantly, Lexa's teeth chomp down and she screams again, more capillaries bursting from the whites of her eyes to pool blood down her cheeks. Not even two seconds later, her body starts to lash and convulse. You grapple with her shoulders again, ignoring how her injured one is so, so wet.

"Hold her down!" You order frantically as her thrashes grow harder. "Fuck… don't let her move, she'll pull more stitches."

Everyone works in tandem without question, grabbing a limb to hold the writhing Commander down with as much force that they can manage. It lasts for what feels like hours before Lexa suddenly jerks harshly once last time before getting tense. Her eyes are wide and her pupils fully dilated. You stare at her in disbelief as she stops moving. Her muscles are coiled tightly, ready to spring under your hands. You wait for her to relax.

But, they never release.

"Paralysis," Dashiq growls with a hiss, removing his grip to look into Lexa's open, glazed eyes. Her body is far hotter now than it'd been moments ago. It's the only ounce of comfort you have in order to know she's not dead. You release your grip and reach for her head, tilting it towards you. It's a forced jerk, but eventually she complies. You're terrified by how black her eyes are as you wipe away the blood with shaking fingers. Her mouth is loosely open, the tongue depressor nearly having snapped in her bite from earlier. Now it only hangs from her lips, ready to fall at any moment.

"Lexa?" You ask quietly, trying to get her eyes to focus on you. "Lexa, wake up, come on. Don't do this."

Nothing.

"Lexa?" You start shaking her now, trying to ignore how she's still so rigid. Her eyes are hauntingly glassy as they stare at you with a blank expression. You swallow thickly and fight back the urge to cry as you repeat her name over and over again in some feigned hope that she'll respond. There's a silence around you, but you ignore your friends and focus yourself on Lexa alone. There's so many things you have to discuss, to heal, to fix, and you need her to be there for all of it. You're screaming her name now as you jerk her body upwards. Her head lolls sickeningly, causing you to gasp.

And then, with a soft exhale from her cracked lips, Lexa's body slumps and goes limp.

 

**Octavia**

 

"Lexa?" Clarke breathes out as the Commander's head nearly smacks against the ground, the wooden stick between her teeth falling out as her jaw loses its grip. Clarke is rigid as you watch her remove her hands to cup her mouth. Lexa's blood stains her pale cheek and some of it paints her lips. A sob leaves your friend's mouth as she shakes her head. You feel your heart twist as Lincoln stiffens in shock from beside you. His hand grips yours all too tightly and you can feel the shiver that runs down his spine. You don't have to turn around to know that he's crying, just like you.

 _Please_ , you beg to whatever God exists, _don't let it end like this._

"No," Clarke whispers as she shakes Lexa again, "no, you can't leave me. Wake up, Lexa."

The Commander remains still, staring lifelessly at the leader of the Sky People.

"No!" Clarke screams again through gritted teeth, tears falling from her eyes as she swings her legs over to rest on Lexa's waist. "Wake up, Lexa! Fucking wake up!" Dashiq gazes on pitifully, and you can see some members of the guard watching on with equally terrified expressions. Dashiq outstretches his arm, reaching out to place his palm on Clarke's trembling shoulder in comfort. He parts his lips to speak, his voice low and quavering.

"Clarke-"

"Hold her head back," Clarke demands, interrupting Dashiq's mournful voice, "open her airway. We have to start her heart again."

"Clarke, she's-"

"Fucking open her airway!" Clarke manically screams at him, "you're a fucking healer! You speak English, do you not? Open the fucking airway!" 

Dashiq only bows his head and refuses to move. Clarke snarls and reaches forward, titling Lexa's limp head backwards herself instead. When no one moves to hold it, you feel your body jerking forward. In the back of your mind you know that this is fruitless, but you won't let yourself give up so easily. You hold her head and despite the glare in Clarke's fuming blue eyes, you can't help but fear that Dashiq's sorrow is well placed. The minute you touch Lexa's skin, you shudder because it's so damned cold. Minutes ago, when you'd been gripping her leg, it'd been piping hot and now it's _ice_.

"Clarke," you go to say in protest. The skin is too cold, Lexa's eyes are too glazed. _This isn't going to work._ "Clarke, wait-"

"Hold it," Clarke says as she reaches behind her for her gun and points it at you. "Hold it fucking open or I'll blow your head off."

You don't protest anymore, offering the driven woman barely a nod. Bellamy looks about ready to pull her away, but you give him a nod to stand back. He looks torn, but obeys regardless. Clarke grunts and sheathes her weapon before placing her hands over Lexa's sternum. The cut down her middle is still fresh, the stitches still raw to the point where you're certain that they will pop and bleed the Commander dry should Clarke give her CPR. You want to warn her, but Clarke is determined and possessed as she locks her fists and starts pumping. With each convulsion, you're forced to look into Lexa's lifeless eyes as her head bobs lightly. You almost think this is worse than seeing the Mountain Men irradiated or the burning of TonDC.

"Come on," Clarke hisses as she pushes harder, "come on, fucking wake up, you bitch. Wake up!"

After thirty compressions, she crawls up Lexa's body and takes her lips, plugging her nose as she blows two long, steady puffs into her lungs. Lexa's eyes remain glazed and open, staring emptily at you as her lungs rise and fall with Clarke's forced breaths. You glance down to see that the spot on her chest is a bloody mess. The stitches have popped. After giving the breaths, Clarke moves back and starts again, locking her arms as the tears fall harder and faster than before. The way she works breaks your heart, because while her compressions are in time, her _own_ heart looks ready to burst. 

And still, the Commander stares with empty eyes, mocking and leering from beyond the void. 

"Fuck," Clarke swears as she crawls up again, the two puffs now sloppier. She's sobbing into Lexa's mouth, pleading, begging, screaming at her to wake up because she's right - damn the Commander to leave you all here in the middle of war, in the middle of such fucked up times, and to leave you all alone to suffer the consequences, to leave Clarke alone. You know that there's something more between them, something that Clarke refuses to let on.

"No," Clarke snarls after the last compression, sliding down her frame and collapsing upon the bloodied Commander. "You don't get to leave me in the middle of a war just to die. You selfish fucking bitch, I won't ever forgive you if you don't wake up. I told you I need your spirit to stay where it is. You promised me peace. Now do your part and fucking _wake up_ , Lexa." Her screaming is manic now, one that makes the guards uneasy as she glares at the motionless girl under you. As you open your mouth to try and convince Clarke to let her go, that she's past the point of saving, the blonde sobs.

"Please," comes out as a wrangled whisper, a broken cry from her lips as she takes to sobbing into the Commander's cool neck. "Please just wake up, Lexa. I need you. I fucking need you. Wake up." Clarke pounds her fist down on her chest, screaming the same sentence with enough ferocity to cause the four of you watching to shudder and turn away. She does it again, and again, and again until her hand is a bloody mess because she pulled the front half of Lexa's stitches and left the wound gaping and open like it'd began. The blood flows like a river down her chest and into the furs.

But then, you watch as Clarke's eyes flash.

"Give me the knife," she whispers, looking over at Dashiq. He looks hesitant, but she snarls at him. "Give. Me. The. Knife."

Dashiq hands it over and she cuts the middle of Lexa's chest where the line is. Instead of stitching it or relieving the blood loss with a cloth, you watch in horror as she digs the knife into her skin and cuts an incision big enough for her own hands. Dashiq tries to stop her, but he knows that the Commander isn't alive, and if this - _whatever this is_ \- works, then it's worth something. Clarke is known for thinking on her feet, even under times of pressure, and you suddenly pick up on what she's about to do. You reach out and graze her shoulder, drawing her gaze as she finishes the incision.

"Gently," you remind her, because even though she's smart, she still hurt, still scared. At the expression in your eyes, she nods and reach over to help wipe her tears quickly before turning back to kneel at Lexa's head. You glance over to Dashiq and Bellamy because you know that what's about to happen next requires Clarke's full attention. "Grab the cloth and apply pressure around the cut, not too close to Clarke's hands, though," you order them strictly, pleased with the expression of relief on Clarke's face with your action. They comply instantly, grabbing the cloth.

"Come on," Clarke whispers to Lexa's still staring eyes as she reaches inside and finds her heart, "come on, Lexa."

You all watch as Clarke starts massaging with one hand. Her movements are slow and steady, remarkably calm for her frazzled state. The other one is on her own chest, seeking her own heartbeat. You don't know how she's keeping composed but she is, moving her fingers to the beat of her own heart. Something about it is oddly intimate, in the sense that they're connecting on a level that even you've not reached with Lincoln. You've heard his heart beat, but you've never actually held it in your palms and squeezed it into life. When Lexa doesn't respond, Clarke begins to waver, but you shake your head. She has to keep going. This has to work. After this, there is nothing left. After this, there is only war.

"Lexa," Clarke whispers her name so softly, you barely hear it. A tear drips down her cheek as she begs, " _please_."

It's a raw, broken plead from her lips as the tears start dripping again. Her shoulders begin to quake but she keeps her hands steady. It takes a few precious seconds spent in silence, simply watching as Clarke physically resuscitates Lexa's heart. Lincoln is frozen at Bellamy's side, his eyes gleaming with unshed and sorrowful tears. But then, Clarke gasps and looks to her hands, where the organ in her palms is faintly mimicking her movements. You glance down to Lexa's eyes, watching as some of the previous glaze starts to shift and her lids start flickering. You all watch in amazement and awe as her chest starts to stutter back into a slow rise and fall, like a restarted car motor. You want to laugh, to cheer, to cry in joy, because Lexa is _alive_.

"That's it," Clarke urges her on sweetly, her own voice filled with excitement. "That's it! Yes! Come back to us, Lexa."

Slow, even breaths start leaving those parted lips and Clarke cries out in celebration when Lexa's eyes roll shut and she disappears into unconsciousness once more. You swear that you hear a single, whispered ' _Klark_ ' leave her lips before she's back to sleep. When you glance up, you see Clarke's hand now free from Lexa's chest, her eyes staring at Lexa with so much love and adoration that you almost forget the infinite battlefields of disdain lined between them. In that moment, she's lost in the essence of _Lexa_ , not what she represents or her title. Dashiq takes over from there, broken from his awe so he can stitch the Commander back together. Bellamy and Lincoln back away, allowing the man some space. Even Clarke moves back, too. All of you continue to stare down at the woman who fought her way through death.

"All of you must wash and apply antiseptic to any place her blood has touched," Dashiq tells you all softly, breaking you back into reality. "While she is alive now, her blood still carries the poison. It could be spread to any of you. It's important you rid yourselves of any containment with her blood immediately. Go now, I will take care of her from here. Death will not take her Spirit on this night. Our Heda lives."

You nod at him and rise on shaky knees, watching as Bellamy and Lincoln stand with you. All of you still stare down at the somehow breathing Commander, and then at Clarke, who is staring at the unconscious Grounder leader with so much pain it almost breaks your heart. You step around the unconscious woman and wrap your arms around your friend's shoulders, pulling her up to stand so that she can cry into your shoulder. Bellamy and Lincoln's arms wind around yours and you hold the girl together. Clarke may have saved her people, have saved the Commander and now may be tainted in her blood, but she too was broken from the Mountain. You grip her tighter, assuring your allegiance in your tight embrace.

"Thank you," Clarke whispers as she slumps in the presence of your group hug. "I… I'm sorry for pulling a gun on you."

"You had a gut instinct," you tell her in a light-hearted laugh, "but I'm not gonna lie, I'm not sure if I ever want to be on your bad side."

"You won't," Clarke says in a tired sigh. You watch as Bellamy takes her from your grip and nods to the river. 

"Come on," he says before glancing at you and Lincoln, "that's enough blood for one night. Let's go wash up."

 

**Lexa**

 

You have been in this forest for exactly six weeks since Shiara left you.

Most of it is spent wandering and foraging. You still stay away from those who fight each other, because you know that despite how stubborn you are, you cannot take them with your height or lack of build. Instead, you work strategically. You find the food sources first, placing your rewards in the trees and out of reach of the others. You disrupt shelters after you use them (after having been attacked by a girl from  _Sankru_ , you refuse to stay in one place too long) so that your enemies cannot use them, or find you. You cover your footprints and mask yourself in mud and moss to hide in the bushes. 

The sword Shiara left behind, either on purpose or by accident (you know which it is), has served you for nothing. You refuse to take lives. You used the blade to sharpen some wood into a bow, and then grabbed some leftover coiled string at a deserted camp to form the elastic. You carved arrows from the branches and used some wolf teeth you found in the forest to make the arrowheads. You practiced with it for the first time, to test its weight and agility, before you began moving through the forest. You carry your sword at your side and your bow slung around your back. You feel like a warrior.

You feel like your father.

Though the bow is not your element, Costia taught you well to craft one and use it. You've managed to kill a deer, alongside the ample amount of rabbits and voles. You always cook your meat by the fire and dry them so you may conserve more for later. With winter having fallen, the prey is scarce but you'd managed to find the foal before anyone else. You skinned the deer and used the hide as an extra coat when the snow fell two days ago. The camouflage you'd been using failed to serve a purpose now that everything was pristinely white. Your hair stands out the most. 

You'd cursed its existence, for a week ago you'd been attacked by a wolf that'd left your right hand marred and unable to use. You hadn't heard it creep up on you in the bristling winds of the snowstorm, so it caught you by surprise. Your battle had been bloody and unfair. Its gait and snarling teeth were sharp as it had tackled you, sinking its jaws into your wrist and biting hard. Eventually, after you managed to kill it with an arrow, it fell to the ground, limp. You mourned over the dead animal, blessed it for its furs and meat, and then set out again. As best as you'd tried to wrap your wound, you knew that there was nothing you could do to hide from the aftermath of your battle with the forest's beast. The blood served as a tracking device. Someone else had tried to kill you as they'd followed your trail, but as he'd cornered you and leaped, you rolled to the side and let him smash into a tree. When he collided, the icicles from the branch speared him in the back. You threw up almost instantly, knowing that he's dead and it could've been you. 

You still have nightmares about him.

You're currently waiting in the trees, shivering because your wound is infected but there are no leaves to make a salve. The winter frost has taken all the herbs and frozen the lakes. But you're smart - you'd learned from Anya and Costia after all. You'd used the snow to try and wash out the bacteria from the beast, but you know that you cannot do much with just water. Your body burns as you wring the pelt tighter around your frame, shivering as the fever that'd been steadily rising for the past two days starts to make you feel nauseas. You quell the urge to vomit and instead think of Costia. You grip your bow tighter, trying to tether yourself to the memory of her. She becomes your strength as you bite back the urge to cry when you shift your hand.

Peeling back the make-shift brace you'd built from sticks and bits of pelt, you glance at the damage underneath. You grimace when you see the green pus frothing around the mouth of the two holes in your wrist. There's a twinge of orange around the visible section of bone that again serves to upset your stomach. You use everything in your body to flip your hand over to see the underside, flinching at the sight of your mangled pinky that hangs off like a loose piece of thread. You chest rattles as you cough and gag, but luckily your throat swallows down the bile that rises. You take a breath as you reach for your water receptacle before biting off the cork with your teeth. Using it as a depressor, you pour the water onto the wound. You bite down on the cork, tears welling in your eyes as unbearable pain washes over you, nearly threatening you from falling down from the tree.

You clean it quickly, trying to wrap it with your shaky, non-dominant hand, before you slump back against the bark. You know, because you've been also tracking the other's movements, that there is only one person left in the forest with you, and as soon as the last horn blows in two weeks, you will have passed. Either that, or you can cut the time short with death. Shiara's words replay over and over in your mind, but you refuse to crumble. You cannot crumble. You shiver at the mere thought of it. You don't want to kill anyone, not even to get help for your hand or leave the cold. You are haunted by the ruthless kill of your father, and even though you wield a sword and dagger, or can shoot an arrow, you do not wish to end someone's life by your own hand. You can still see that boy, lying motionless and eyes-open from under the tree as he'd bled out on the snow for the wolves.

"This is it," a familiar voice calls out, startling you. You glance down in horror to see Shiara staring up at you, a faint smirk on her face. "We could go home, but you chose to hide in a tree." You notice that she has another sword, one that you assume she'd stolen from the person she'd killed or perhaps picked up from an abandoned corpse. Her armour is torn and she is bleeding heavily from a wound on her shoulder. You can see that the corner of her jaw is black with frostbite and her eyes are glazed with the same fever you suffer. She still raises her weapon weakly, pointing it to you.

"I do not wish to fight," you tell her back, pressing closer to the tree. "I would rather we both survive."

"You're stupid," she says with a harsh laugh, shaking her head. "Neither of us can last through another two weeks. I saw you get bit. I've been tracking you ever since I took down that boy from the Iron Clan. You and I are the last ones here, and this doesn't end until we leave. It's not a test anymore." 

"What does it test, though?" You ask, cocking your head. "So far, all I've seen is murder and death. This is merely a form of entertainment for the Heda, is it not? I don't understand why anyone could possibly ascend from something as ruthless and vile as this. It's not right, Shiara, and you know it."

Anya had never really explained to you, or avoided the topic all together. Every time you'd gone and challenged the older woman, she'd merely brush you off or tell you to focus your mind elsewhere. Perhaps it's because she knew that the test was ridiculous that she couldn't voice her opinion. You were the only one allowed to speak out of turn, mostly because the Heda enjoyed bringing you pain with his whip or knife. You shiver as you feel the scars on your back burn with the memories of all the times you never were able to keep your mouth shut. But Anya never scolded you for it. In fact, as you'd leave each punishment, you would be sure to see the faint gleam of pride in her dark eyes as she'd led you to Dashiq and Nyko to get healed.

"Hm?" You murmur again tiredly as you lean your head back against the tree. You are so tired, from running and surviving, that you wish the winter storm would take you. But then you remember Costia, and how you'd promised you'd return to her. So you stiffen your jaw and ask again, "what does it test, Shiara?" The older girl furrows her brow, and a fleeting sheen of hopelessness passes through her dark eyes before she shoves it down and smirks. You watch as she lowers her sword and nods her head, gesturing for you to come join her on the ground.

"Why don't you come closer and I'll tell you, Tree Girl," she says with a quiet chuckle. Her tone is neither threatening like it'd been when you first met, but instead it's neutral, tired, almost defeated. She looks nothing like she'd once been, haunted by her mother's grip. You see that she doesn't pose a threat in the way her head is submissively cocked, so you humour her. Wrapping your pelt around you and trying, you shimmy down the tree until you are facing her. Shiara looks older now, despite you've both been aging at the same time. You wonder if your face is just as cracked or your eyes are as hard and distant as hers. She stands a few inches taller than you, with calming dark eyes and soft dark hair that is ratty and coarse from not bathing. 

"Leksa," the older girl answers softly, "it determines the _true_ strength of a Commander. Not by death, but by compassion."

Your eyes widen and you watch as her gaze lowers again. She reaches for her sword and holds it out. Her hand shakes and her eyes brim with tears, the first sign of emotion you've seen in her since you'd met. You feel your heart constrict with the raw sadness in her facial expression. There is remorse, longing, and so much anguish brewing in her dark gaze that your lungs soon concave and you forget how to breathe. She steps forward, and you don't even react as the tip of her blade presses against your stomach, nicking the skin from under your pelt. A tear falls from her eye as she glances at your sword, and then again at your face. Her bottom lip quivers and she takes a deep breath, gripping the hilt of her blade even tighter.

"After we departed, I followed other groups to see if I could forget about you or your stupid need for peace instead of war," she explains with a brittle tone. Her voice cracks as she steps closer, watching with a faint gasp as blood starts to form on your shirt from the nick. "I watched them plan to kill each other ruthlessly. Just like my mother would - it was dishonourable. In their sleep, when they were relieving themselves, when they were _vulnerable_. They have no honour amongst themselves, no understanding. It made my rage burn, not for them but for you."

"Why?" You ask, not wincing as her hand shakes harder. Shiara gulps as you press forward into her blade. "Why are you angry for me?"

"No one ever stood a chance," she whispers as she gazes at you with disdain. Her voice quivers and her blade nearly falls from your torso. "All the others did was fight. They were angry, tortured by death and vengeance and blood. They were sick, driven by their own selfish bloodlust, Leksa. You were the only one who never killed, who entered this test strategically and wisely. You watched and learned from them in the way a leader would… _should_ do. Think about it. We've been at war since our ancestors were born. All we know is death." Her voice cracks on the last word, her head bowing.

"My mother wanted me to be Heda," she admits softly, unable to meet your glance. "You were right, all those weeks ago. I never wanted this. I never wanted to follow in her footsteps. She's caused enough pain to serve five lifetimes. She murdered your people out of petty cowardice. She fears you because you are different from form all of them. You are not like us, Leksa, and that is why she is so scared, why Heda himself is so scared, of you."

"What makes me so different?" You ask with a hushed gasp as her blade sinks a little deeper. Shiara finally nods her head up, her eyes glazed and overcome with emotion. She swallows thickly, staring at you as though she were trying to get a better read. But you know her answer before she speaks. You watch as she takes a step back, her blade still not lowered as she stares at you, placing a stoic mask over her glimmering dark eyes.

"You do not want to fight," she says after sometime, a mark of hope adding to her voice, "you want peace."

"But there can only be one," you say as you look to the blood starting to drip from her incision on your pelt. "What about you?"

"I cannot lead," she chokes out and grips the sword tighter. "I would do the same that they do. I would fight and kill like my retched mother."

"Then how come you've not killed me? You wanted me dead all those weeks ago. Why did you leave me the sword, Shiara?" You ask her, confused. The girl pauses, glancing up to see the innocence in your eyes. You can see that she is haunted, perhaps even as broken as you are but unafraid to show it. Shiara remains pensive before she removes the blade from your stomach and lets her arm drop to the side. You gasp slightly at the relief.

"Because you must kill me," she tells you, the words causing your entire body to freeze in the chilled air. " _You_ are the next Heda, Leksa."

"How do you know?" You ask as she drops her blade to the ground. It lands in the snow with barely a noise. She smiles at you, earnest and pure. She looks so much wiser than when you'd begun. For a moment, trapped in that encouraging smirk, you think that in another lifetime, a lifetime not marred by death and revenge, you could be friends maybe. You can see how much she's changed, and it softens your heart. She takes a breath and sighs.

"I don't," she answers, plain and simple, "but neither does anyone else. It is impossible to ever know."

"You'd give your life for chance?" You ask, breathless. "You'd just sacrifice yourself for something you don't understand?"

Shiara is silent for for a moment, just staring at you. Then, she steps forward so that you are almost breaths apart. She looks down at your mangled hand and winces. You see more tears forming in her eyes as she sighs, bowing her head. You both remain quiet for a few more minutes, contemplating the inevitable. You are young but you are not stupid nor are you naive. You know the choices you both must make. You do not move. You let her decide. Finally, Shiara shakes her head as you feel her reach out and draw your sword from it's makeshift sheath at your side and into your hands. She drops to her knees before you, her head tipped upwards as you feel the blade fit snugly in your palm. She smiles at you again, teary-eyed and strong.

"I do understand, Leksa. I didn't before, but now I do." Her words are nearly lost to the wind. "But that is not why I would sacrifice myself for you."

"Then why?" You ask, your voice cracking as your own tears well in your eyes. "I told you, I don't know how to kill anyone!"

"And I told you that you would learn when the time is right," Shiara responds sagely, giving you another nod. She allows a few tears to drip down her cheeks and freeze to her chin before she nods to the sword. You start to understand exactly what she means and it causes your gut to sink in dread. You shake your head, but she murmurs something under her breath, something so soothing that even your trembling ceases for a few moments. You glance down at her, knelt before you like you are a Queen and she is your humble servant. You hate it.

Her hand reaches out and grazes your unmarred wrist as she whispers, " _it is time, Leksa_."

"I… I…," you stammer as you start to cry, but Shiara hums gently, shaking her head. The hand holding the sword shakes harder than before as the weight of her decision burdens you. You glance up, gasping as you see your father's ghost watching from the trees. A faint smile paints his marred face as he nods proudly at you. A lump forms in your throat as you can see the acknowledgement in his familiar brown eyes. A warmth you'd not felt in nearly a year and six months fills you. His voice is there, soothing you with a calming whisper to the back of your troubled mind.

 _The forest is your home now, and from within it you will lead_ , he repeats his final words to you, _it is time for your journey, hodnes._

"Being Heda requires making hard choices," you whisper Shiara's words back to her as you glance back down at the older, calm-looking girl. She nods at you, a faint hint of pride glistening in her dark eyes as more tears slip from her eyes. You look to your sword, trying to fight the uneasy tension in your gut. Shiara smiles again, pure and true. She rests back on her heels, nodding her head upwards to express one final show of strength. You swallow thickly as you grip the blade tighter in your palm. Your eyes meet hers once more, your gazes locking as the inevitable approaches.

"You didn't answer my question," you breathe out as your voice eases from its tremors, "why do you give your life to me?"

Shiara pauses in her breathing, but she does not waver. She casts a single glance to your blade, which sits at the same height as her torso. She looks to the blood on your hands and your torso. Something in her eyes change and she takes a breath, finally allowing her lungs to breath the fresh winter air. A genuine smile creeps up on her face, and you almost collapse at how proud she looks. For the first time, she looks like a girl. A proper, weightless, happy _girl_. Her eyes continue to let out tears, but they're not out of spite or mourning. She cries for you in respect and admiration.

In _love_.

"For hope," Shiara whispers as she closes her eyes. "For peace, Leksa. I die so we can finally live in _peace_."

You don't know how you mange to do it, but you end up sliding your sword through her stomach. You watch as the blood spills out around your bodies and onto the snow. You kneel beside her as you cry. She gasps slightly, but does not make an effort to fight you as you stick your sword deeper into her frame. She shudders as blood pools around her knees and stains the snow, but she does not fit. You collapse into her chest and cry as she blinks open her eyes and smiles down at you again. Her hand reaches up and grazes your cheek, blood burbling at the corner of her chapped lips. You see her part her mouth to say something, but her body is too weak to continue. You watch as the life leaves her eyes, the smile still frozen to her face.

You scream and pull the sword out and back, horrified at the distance in those glazed greys staring into nothingness. You sob in agony and thrash in the cold as she remains kneeling, like she's bowing down to you. You feel her blood on your palms and you wail, the image of having felt her insides grip your blade crawling up your skin. You stay there and cry, curled in on yourself like a newborn, helpless to the world. Her eyes haunt you and you know that what you've done will never leave your memory. Her smile is frozen to her pale lips as she joins your father's ghost in the forest.

 _For peace, Leksa_ , you hear her voice again, _I die so we can finally live in peace._

She could've been your friend. Hell, maybe even your advisor now that… well you don't even want to think about it. All of this, all of these weeks that have gone by in which you've battled for your life, have finally ended with you doing the one thing you swore you'd never do. And now, as you look to the blood on your hands, you are sickened with yourself. These were hands that wanted to heal, to craft, to sell or forge. They were never built to take lives like you'd taken just now. You stare at them until your gaze hardens and the tears stop. You grit your teeth before glancing up at Shiara's pale face with a newfound sense of determination. You wait a few moments to regain your composure before you stand stiffly and look around you. 

You grab a few sticks and branches from the trees that aren't completely covered in snow and drag them over. You work with sheer perseverance as you keep cutting at different branches until you have enough for what you need to do. You put aside your grief to grab the girl's shoulders and gently lay her down. You cover her body in the sticks and branches until she's no longer visible. You manage to find some moss from under the snow and drape it over her bloodied frame. You cover her in the makeshift pyre you've build before you stand back, your frame stiff with loss. Yet, from the cracks in one of the twigs, her eyes still watch you, cold and lifeless. Even in death, she looks proud of your decision. You turn away from her gaze and instead reach for your dagger. You look at the gift Anya had given you, and you remember the word that she'd bestowed upon you before you thrown into the test.

 _Greatness_.

You take a deep breath and gather your strength as you reach behind you, in your pack, for the rock that you've been carrying with you. You strike your dagger against the surface, once, twice, three times until a spark comes and spills out on to the make-shift pyre. You quickly blow on the smoke until a fire rises. When it grows to the full flaming potential, you stand and pocket the blade. You stare down at the body beneath you, closing your eyes and honouring the girl who'd sacrificed herself for you. You know nothing about leading, but now, now you feel responsible. You _are_ responsible.

" _Yu gonplei ste odon_ ," you whisper into the burning ember, "your fight is over." 

You wait until the fire has consumed very last ounce of flesh in silence. When only ash remains, you mutter a final prayer to the Spirits so she may find peace in the afterlife. Then, you march back through the forest for hours until you reach the opening in which you'd started the test. Almost as if it were fate, you hear the voice of Costia and Luna in the background. You nod your head up to see Anya standing beside them, a solemn but proud look in her eyes as you walk over with a heavy limp. Your bodies injuries start to weigh down as you collapse face first into the snow, the blood from your hand spreading into the pristine white powder. You feel Costia's hands roaming your body, calling desperately for Dashiq and the other healers.

"You made it," she whispers happily, though her voice shakes, "you came back, Leksa."

You can't answer her. Your eyes are trained on Anya only. It's as if the great general knows exactly what you thinking as she strides over. She can see exactly what you've done from how your eyes distantly stare into her own. Anya looks heartbroken, but her stoic frame allows nothing to get past. You barely feel how Dashiq and Luna help you onto a stressor, communicating about your hand and your fever. They're trying to speak to you, to get you to talk to see if you're sick, but you don't hear them. You don't even feel your friend's hands on your uninjured one, stroking over your bruised and frostbitten knuckles. You feel nothing but emptiness and sorrow. Anya stands over the stretcher and nods down at you. For once, you don't need to ask, or cock your head away. Instead, you nod back at her, tears stinging in your eyes as you clench your jaw. Anya sighs and bows her head.

"Welcome home," she whispers to you respectfully, " _Strik Heda._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRANSLATIONS:
> 
> Skirsh - shit  
> Branwada - idiot/fool  
> Nontu/Nomon - Father/Mother  
> Goufa - child (silly)  
> Yongon - child (formal)  
> Pauna - gorilla  
> Gada - girl  
> Houmon - spouse/wife/significant other  
> Beja si ai ou, beja em laksen - please help me, please it hurts  
> Ai gonplei - my fight  
> Sankru - The Desert Clan  
> Hodnes - love  
> Yu gonplei ste odon - your fight is over  
> Strik Heda - Little Commander
> 
> I think someone pointed out the little detail a few chapters back about Lexa's hand :P Keep in mind that some of the stories that are shared between the present day characters will probably resurface in Lexa's flashbacks. I love writing her backstory, it's the best part of this entire fan fic. I really hope that it's not too intimidating though! Please let me know if it gets overbearing. I just really love Lexa omg.
> 
> Also, apologies again for the length. I'll try to shorten the next chapter :P
> 
> Cheers! :)


	11. silent screams are hurting me (just ask for my help)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> take a whole or a part of me, and ask for my help

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THERE ARE NO TRIGGER WARNINGS FOR THIS CHAPTER.
> 
> Ahh so sorry this took so long! I had three neuroscience midterms on one day and I nearly died. Also I figured this would make a decent update until I died after tomorrow night's episode. Anyways, this one has more plot and stuff. The next chapter is where it gets interesting because we get to see the new Clexakru as they make their way to Arkadia/Camp Jaha. The next chapter is intense, that's for sure.
> 
> Thank you so much for all the kind compliments and comments! I'll get back to y'all ASAP. I apologize for the length of these chapters, but as you can see, I have issues when it comes to word count, lol. 
> 
> If you haven't checked out my other Clexa one-shot, please give it a look! It's called "Tear Me Down (Then Build Me Up) :) I'd love to hear what you guys think of that one. No pressure though, haha :D
> 
> The chapter title/summary comes from the song, "For My Help" by Hayden Calnin.

 

**Lexa**

 

You're out of it for three days. The first time you slip into unconsciousness, you see nothing but darkness. And then, when your eyes open, everything is blurry. Voices fade in and out of your ears, some panicked and others calm, reassuring, grounding. You fall back into sleep, and it isn't until you wake again that you are finally able to see. Your head spins and you feel bile rise in the back of your throat as the pain slowly registers in your weary mind. Your hand feels like it's on fire and your stomach has a steady throb to it.

"Easy," a soothing voice hums, "you are safe."

You blink twice before slowly turning your head to see Costia sitting next to you, a flimsy smile painting her lips. You part your mouth to speak, but all you manage to get out is a hoarse cough. Calmly, your best friend rises and grabs at a small goblet before leaning over the bed to hold it to your cracked lips.

"Drink," she orders gently, "it will help."

You don't protest as she tips the glass and helps you down the strong liquid. It tastes like the inside of a shoe, which causes your brows to scrunch together. Costia's eyes narrow and she frowns, but instead of fighting her, you allow yourself the poisonous-tasting drink. After sometime she pulls back and smiles again, placing the cup on the drawer beside your bed. You watch her sit tiredly in a creaky wooden chair, her eyes only on you.

Now you take the time to glance around at your surroundings. You're in a healing tent, but you're not in TonDC. You see the building's structure and it's more refined. Your bed is covered with pristine white sheets, bare for a few spots of blood from under your bandaged hand. You raise it slowly, observing the way it numbly reacts. You can only feel three of your fingers and your thumb. As you peer further, you see that your pink is bandaged to a small stump.

"It was practically gone when Dashiq tried to fix it," Costia whispers softly, her hand reaching out to tenderly hold yours in her palm. "He did everything he could… but it was bad, Leksa. A few more days in that forest and… and…," she doesn't finish her statement. Instead, she holds her breath in and closes her eyes to regain her composure. Then, she gazes back down at you with a tenderness that aches to split your weathered heart open once more.

"I thought I lost you," she murmurs as she leans in and presses a kiss to your forehead. "I thought I was never going to get to say I love you."

"I… I…," you choke out, your throat still raw from lack of use. Costia shakes her head and kisses your cheek this time. She leans down on the mattress and pulls you in for a sweeping hug. You are small and scrawny, thinner than you'd ever been, as she wraps you in her strong arms. Her blonde hair tickles your face, but you revel in the smell of her comforting warmth. She reminds you of the river which she was named after. Smooth and beautiful and strong.

This is _your_ Costia.

"I… I love you," the words leave your lips with a coarse rasp, "I… I…"

"I know," she murmurs quietly, all the while reaching up with her free hand to stroke your hair. A breath gets caught in your throat the minute you feel those delicate but strong fingertips gliding along your scalp. Costia smiles again, sad and soft, but you take in every inch of her like it's your last sight.

"Good to see you're awake," a deep voice rumbles from the side. You both glance up to see Dashiq, Luna, and Anya step into the room. The healer smirks at the sight of Costia curled up next to you. Anya's gaze is stoic as per usual, but you can make out the hint of approval in those dark eyes. Luna looks relieved to see you well as they make their way to your side. Costia slides off the bed with a heated blush when Dashiq winks at her.

"The others?" You mutter tiredly as the healer places his palm against your forehead. Anya tenses and Luna bites her lip.

"Their bodies have been lit," Anya answers quietly, walking to the other end so she may look upon you. Her eyes rake in every inch of your frame, as though she is also subtly surprised at your health. You try to sit up, but your body protests. Anya's firm hand places itself upon your shoulder, urging you to rest.

" _Onya ai… ai frag_ ," you stutter as tears start to well in your eyes. You feel Costia tense up at Luna's side and you wince. This is not what either of you ever wanted. Shiara's last words replay over and over again, and you swear the sweat on your palms feels more like the heat of her blood. Anya doesn't need you to finish your statement, because she knows. She must've found the pyre you lit for the Ice Princess. Her hand squeezes your shoulder again softly.

" _Oso dula op oso gaf in kik thru, Strik Heda._ " The words are not meant to be malicious, but instead calm. She is teaching you another lesson, one that Shiara had tried to engrain into your mind. It is a concept you are foreign to, but at the same time, you know so much about the inevitability of death. You shiver at the new name, knowing that now you are destined for a life without your control. You are born and bred to be a leader for your people. Yet, you still feel sick at the thought of having taken a life. You are barely eight; you should be wrestling with other children but here you are in an infirmary, having made your first kill in the rightful trials to become Heda. You are a child soon to lead men and women twice and thrice your age.

You _were_ a child.

" _Dulo yu op biyo moba_?" You ask them all as the tears burn in your eyes. Costia gulps and turns her head into her mother's shoulder. Your heart cracks on the inside, but you shove the feeling down when you see the sympathy brewing in Luna's gaze. She shuffles over with her daughter to stand by Dashiq.

"Anya is right, _ai yongon_ ," she whispers softly as she reaches down and places her warm palm on your cheek. You feel her thumb brush away some of the tears that are sliding down your rough skin. She leans over and kisses your forehead lovingly before murmuring, "you did what you had to in order to survive. You are here now, my darling." You don't feel comforted by her words because all you can see is the guarded look in Costia's deep blue eyes.

"The dead are gone, Lexa," Luna whispers as she presses another kiss to your brow, "the living are hungry."

The words sink into your gut with a dreaded thud. She strokes your cheek for a few more moments before she bids a farewell, letting you know that she will be back soon once she has a discussion with the other ambassadors of the clans. You frown at that, but then you remember that you are _Strik Heda_ , that you will soon have to talk to them and even talk to Heda himself. You sigh and close your eyes, feeling your head ache once more. Dashiq gives you a few more glance-overs before leaving the tent, allowing Anya and Costia to remain at your sides. You feel horrible, like you've betrayed your friends.

"Polis is beautiful," Costia says first, her voice a low mumble. "It's more than we could've ever dreamed of, Leksa. It's full of life."

You blink open your eyes to see her smiling again at you, though it's weaker. Anya glances between you before sitting down on the side of your bed. Costia reaches for your wounded hand once more, pulling it into her lap as she begins to play with the frayed ends of the bandage. Tears slide down her face and you know what she is thinking. _Polis is beautiful, but the world is haunted. I want you to see beauty but I know all you'll see is death._ Your lip quivers at her soft touch, at how her hands tremble slightly and how her palms are hot and clammy above the back of your hand. You want to speak but you can't. 

" _You're_ beautiful," Costia breathes out quietly, and you feel Anya tense. Costia doesn't look up when the words shakily leave her mouth, but she does stop moving. Her eyes are trained on the stump of your pinky. Her finger moves slowly to trace it, and you hold back the urge to wince at the faint sting. You hear Shiara again in the back of your mind, and this time you turn to Anya instead. She looks at you with her stoic, guarded gaze, almost waiting for you to ask the question. You gulp because you know what must come. You don't want it, but you need it. You need to remember those you've sacrificed.

"Where does it go?" You ask quietly, watching as Anya remains impassive. This time, Costia does look up.

"Where does what go?" She asks, glancing between you and your mentor. Anya sighs, and for a second you see a flash of reluctance.

"Your chest first," she murmurs, and you don't miss the _first_. _You will need to kill again_ , you can hear her say. And again, and again, and soon all you know will be a life of slaying and surviving. But you will kill for your people, so they don't have to. You will kill so they can love, and maybe, as you glance back to a worried and confused looking Costia, they will be able to love _you_ , too. After a deep, rattling breath, you nod and shift in your bed.

"Can we do it now?" You ask her quietly. Anya bites her lip. The first scar is meant to be a public ceremony, especially considering you're now the next-in-line. You lick your lips and steel yourself. You will not be weak. But Anya is kind, despite her rough exterior and seemingly bothered glares, and she knows that taking a life had been punishment enough. She rises and pulls out a small poker with a circular end to it, like she'd come prepared for the occasion.

"What are you doing?" Costia demands as Anya rises and sticks the metal into the fire. " _Onya haukom-_ "

"It is tradition," Anya replies curtly as she returns to your side with the reddened poker. She nods at you once and you gulp before reaching with your good hand to grasp at your tunic. You pull back the cloth as Anya stares at the small cuts still healing from your test. Her hand grips the metal stick tighter before glancing back to Costia so she may tell her, "she is the Commander now. It must be done, _gada_. I know you do not wish for such things, but our wishes are not often granted." You hold back the urge to cry when Anya shifts her gaze to stare at you almost apologetically.

She doesn't want to do this.

But she has to.

( _You_ have to.)

When she thrusts the heated metal down, you do not cry out. You grit your teeth and bear the hot sting of the branding. Anya pulls the poker back before you can cry. She sets it aside by the fire pit and does not say a word. Her back stiffens and she mumbles something about finding Luna. She casts one more glance over her shoulder as she leaves, her eyes mournful and dark. Before you can question her, she opens the door and slips out into the hall.

And then, in the presence of the girl who loves you more than the planet, the sun and the stars, you allow yourself to cry.

"I didn't want to do it," you choke out as you plead to Costia. "I didn't want to kill her, Costia. Please, _please_ forgive me."

Costia stares for a few more moments as you continue to sob. You want to stop the tears, but you're so young. The burn scar is dug deeply into your skin. You want to grab the ends of the puckered hole and tear it apart, to allow Costia to see that within those broken walls and cracked ribs, your heart still beats. You did not want to be cruel. You did not want to hurt the way you hurt now. You never wanted to hurt her. You stare up at the ceiling instead, trying to blink down the gliding tears as you repeat in a crushing cry, "I didn't want to kill her. I had to… I… _biyo moba Kostia, biyo moba beja-_ "

"You are good," Costia whispers as she climbs onto the bed beside you again. She wraps you in her strong arms once more, pecking your forehead as she swaddles you in her crushing embrace. Tears are sliding down her cheeks as she repeatedly presses kisses to your crown. "You are so good, Leksa."

"But I-"

"Did what you had to," she finishes for you as she pulls away to look into your glazed expression. "If you need forgiveness, then I will give it to you."

You don't speak as Costia smiles sadly and kisses your cheek. "I will give you forgiveness, Leksa."

"Why?" You breathe out between harsh gasps. Costia smiles again, but the sadness is replaced with something warmer.

"Because," she murmurs as she kisses your brow and holds you close, " _ai hod yu in, Leksa._ "

 

**Clarke**

 

Lexa's fever is rising.

Despite having resuscitated her heart again, she's getting sicker. With almost one third of her blood lost and not enough to replenish what's missing, you know that the chances of her surviving are bare to none. You sit with her in the back of the buggy, one hand gripped lightly around her palm, careful of her bandages. You feel the horse carriage come to a stop, indicating your rest point for the night. You have still a day's ride until you reach Jaha, but it's getting longer and farther away, while the time on Lexa's clock ticks quicker. You hear Dashiq murmuring something about you getting rest, but you refuse.

You will rest once she's safe.

They lay Lexa out on the same sheet they always do, leaving you to change her bandages once more. You cut away at the spores on her cuts, clean her wounds, and press a cold cloth to her forehead to try and reduce the fever. Her forehead burns like a pyre under your trembling palm, but the heat does not ease. Usually, Dashiq is the one that takes care of the wound to her shoulder, but today he has to help one of the warriors, Kaede, who'd been struck down by her rearing horse. Her wounds are not fatal like Lexa's, and while she'd refused help from Dashiq in spite of her Commander's current state, you told her that if her Heda had any chance of making it back to thank her for protection, she'd need all the help she can get. Kaede is young, and she reminds you so much of Octavia. Perhaps, you muse as you glance at Octavia chatting with her amicably, that is why they get along so well.

So this leaves you in your current state, unwrapping the sodden bandage around Lexa's left shoulder. You grimace at the puncture wound that is not seeping blood, but greenish pus. After the cauterization, the skin had split again due to the infected pus. A few spores line the entrance of the smaller hole, but you know that the majority are on the inside in her muscle. You grip your knife and wrench your fingers through the incision to cut them out before you grab a soapy cloth and clean the entire hole in a disinfectant Dashiq had conjured up with the red seaweed and some herbs. Lexa whimpers and shivers, her skin growing hotter. You suck in a deep breath as you fight the urge to cry because even though she's asleep, you can feel how much pain she is in.

Her body trembles periodically, like she is struggling to keep it below her threshold. She still mumbles your name in her sleep, sometimes mixed in with Costia and Anya - you're sure you've heard Luna, Indra, and _nontu_ a few times too. There are a few names you don't recognize and it makes your heart hurt to think of all the people she's lost in her young life. Because, when you look at her now, without armour or kohl, she is just a child. Thousands of people put their trust and faith in her small hands and beg of her to lead, to shelter and cherish them. Lexa gives everything to her people, even her life.

 _Especially_ her life.

You shake the thoughts away and instead concentrate on keeping Lexa's life here. You finally get through cleaning the wound on her shoulder after a few agonizing moments. You discard the used cloth and stare at the exposed skin in its entirety. You make out a long, jagged line from the top of her neck to under her armpit, bubbled and faded. You reach out and touch your fingertips over it, grazing the scalding skin with a bated breath. You follow the line until it descends beneath her breast to wrap around to her back. It looks like someone had just cut her arm off and physically replaced it the right-way round. It then hits you that this is the same shoulder Lexa wears her pauldron and sash. You frown in confusion.

" _Pauna_ ," Dashiq says quietly from behind you. Your fingers stay where they are and you don't turn around. "Heda was fourteen summers."

You stay quiet, but listening as he takes his place beside you, something pressed into the palm of his hand. He sighs tiredly, obviously exhausted from the days travels. This is your first rest since having set off at dawn. Cocking your head, you watch as he clenches his fist around the object before placing it in his mouth and chewing. You observe him spit it out before rubbing it into the infected wound of Lexa's shoulder. It's a salve, you realize, as he presses the leaf-spit paste further into her wound. Lexa mewls and cries again, quivering harder now. Her eyelids flicker rapidly, but her breaths remain even.

"Ssh," you whisper as you shuffle to your side so you can press closer to her, "ssh, _ai yu gada in, Leksa. Chil au, beja, ai get klin em laksen._ "

" _Kostia_ ," she breathes out with a choked rasp as she twitches deliriously, " _Kostia beja-_ "

" _Leksa_ ," you murmur painfully, trying to calm her by stroking her hair, " _beja, chil au. Yu gaf in chil au, beja. Gon ai. Beja, Leksa._ "

It takes some time before she settles again, back into the throes of a haunting sleep. You begin to wonder if she's ever had a dream that hadn't been plagued by nightmares or memories. You feel your heart shatter for her in that instant because you know that her answer is the same as yours after you'd committed genocide on the Mountain. You lick your lips and suck in a deep, composing breath before you turn your gaze up to a guarded Dashiq. He holds your stare for moment before glancing sadly down at the puckered scar around her shoulder. He purses his lips and frowns, sighing heavily with sadness.

"Just a few years after she took leadership," Dashiq explains, his eyes softening as he reaches out to wipe away a sheen of sweat upon her collar with another clean rag. He clears his throat and turns back to stare at the ground beside Lexa's head. "She was still new to being Commander. So young."

"What happened?" You ask quietly, remembering the not so fond memories of Lexa crashing against the ground and dislocating her shoulder. _Leave me_ , you hear her painful plea in your voice. Had she wanted to die? You never pondered that thought. Perhaps Lexa was tired then, too. Dashiq swallows.

"Indra said that _pauna_ killed off too much prey and needed to be hunted to ensure a famine didn't break out during the winter," Dashiq explains as he lets you take the reigns once more, wrapping a clean set of bandages around her shoulder. "But Heda had been stubborn, saying that it was too risky. She wasn't willing to risk her warriors hunting the beast of the forest. Indra's disapproval made her out to look weak and she was soon forced into hunting the wretched beast. The party consisted of Gustus, Costia, Lincoln, Anya, and Indra." Dashiq glances up to see Lincoln making his way through the trees so he may sit by Octavia and Kaede. His eyes flit over to the healer's and then briefly and sadly, to yours. You hazard a soft nod in response, though you can still hear Dashiq's voice in the back of your mind. Lincoln turns away and you look back to a pensive Dashiq. The silence falls between you as you watch his eyes flit from her shoulder to the bubbled scar on the right side of her chest, right where the rings of elements are tattooed into her skin.

"They hunted her for weeks, until one fateful day they met. The beast twisted her shoulder and snapped it almost clean off," Dashiq whispers, bowing his head. " _Pauna_  had thrown her into a tree so hard her entire arm snapped backwards, causing her body to impale itself upon her own sword. She'd taken on the beast herself to save Anya from being slaughtered." You shudder at the imagery, of Lexa being tossed across the forest like a rag doll. You remember the fate of the guard that'd accompanied you into her feeding grounds, of his lifeless gaze and the river of blood that'd cascaded down his body.

"Anya had been furious," Dashiq continues, "Luna, too. Indra suffered a hundred lashes for making the decision to hunt the beast against Heda's previous orders. She was supposed to have suffered the death of a thousand cuts, but Heda came out, braced by Costia and Luna, to spare her life. It was the first time that Lexa ordered respite. Keep in mind, she only had been in power for two years. Some of the members of _Trikru_ were still against her forms of leadership, but she chose to spare Indra because she thought her concerns about _pauna_ were valid." You frown and cock your head. Never once has Lexa spared anyone's life, bare for Raven - but that was a different situation. Lexa believed in the code of her warriors, of blood for blood and vengeance. Dashiq sees the confusion and offers you a sad smile. Lexa whimpers and twists slightly, but you know her body is still very much unconscious and unaware. 

"The Commander you see before you is not the one I knew,  _Skaï prisa_ ," he tells you solemnly, his voice cracking. "Leksa had been full of life, forgiveness, of second chances. She had a heart bigger than the size of this Earth. It was the only way she succeeded in uniting the clans. During her ascension test, she only killed one person at her own blade, and it had been out of mercy - _sacrifice_. It was from then onwards she held her goals for peace and harmony."

"Why?" You choke out, biting back tears. "Why did she change?" Dashiq waits a moment before gazing at her shoulder.

"Because," he murmurs as he nostalgically traces the line of her scar with his sad eyes, "putting something back into place doesn't erase the fact that it's been broken before and will break again. Heda wears the pauldron because her shoulder would cave instantly should she be hit in the same place once more. She's not allowed weakness, and in combat, her shoulder is weakness. When her hand came back wrangled from her test, she had Gustus' wife make the bracer you found in her clothing. It was the only way for her to make herself strong for her people. There are many wounds she has endured that would kill a regular soldier. Heda is strong. Her blood is thick with vitality, though she doesn't breathe the same strength at times. She is a _vessel_." His voice cracks on the last word, like he is unsure of it. You know you agree with him, because Lexa has been through torture, hell, death, and she still breathes.

But how?

"Do not forget that not all wounds are external," Dashiq tells you, cutting you away from your own thoughts. You watch as his head nods up to bear a clean stare into your glistening eyes. "Heda has bled in places not covered by skin, and she continues to bleed until her last breath. Just like her shoulder or her hand, she tried to ignore the pain and mask it with emotional distance - detachment from feelings. It was the only way that she could continue the peace. She cut off the strings of her heart so that her people may have a leader with a strong and smart head. You may see her pragmatic now, but she _massacred_ the Ice Nation after Costia's head was sent to her. She demanded for blood and killed more than was deserved. She nearly lost the alliance had it not been for the Mountain Men killing and taking our warriors for their sick and twisted games. The Queen subjected to her to the trials, and that was when we all knew that Costia's death had been nothing but bait. She knew Lexa's love for the girl was undying, and she knew that it would throw her position of power. After Lexa survived the trials, she put on a mask for everyone else so she could refuse weakness again. She became coldblooded and ruthless." 

"The kohl," you speak, raw and hoarse as you make the connection. Dashiq nods again, more broken than before.

"She chose the design after Costia's death," he tells you with a soft sigh. "She claimed them to be icicles, but we all knew what they really were. Whispers went around - _Tieres kom Heda_ , people would say. She put it there to remind herself that Costia - that  _love_  - is what got her killed. Love is what left her vulnerable and unfit to lead, and that love is not something a leader needs in times of war. You already saw your scar, Klark." His eyes don't fall down to look at the mark like yours do. You gulp as you follow the jagged curve with your glazed eyes. The pain manifests in your chest, aching your throat.

"But she made the right choice," you whispers as you wipe a tear from your cheek, "she was right about the deal. On the Mountain. I mean, I saw the dead bodies on the ridge. More than forty-seven of her warriors were killed. More would've been slaughtered if she'd chosen to stay and fight. When I think about it now, I know I would've taken it, too. I wouldn't have left her alone on the Mountain, but I would've taken the death because I knew that my people came first." Dashiq mulls over your response before he cocks his head. He leans back against the tree behind him. He stares at you, long and hard.

"You would've fought with Heda?" He asks softly, almost in surprise. "Almost a fortnight ago you were demanding her blood,  _prisa_."

"Because if I died on that Mountain, I would be replaceable. I had people in my stead that could lead should I stumble and fall," you explain as you look to Lexa's scrunched, heavily sweating brow and take a deep breath. You look upwards to see Bellamy talking to one of the guards. A sigh escapes your lungs as you continue to hoarsely say, "I _did_ stumble and fall, but they would've taken me back. Bellamy forgave me when I told him I needed to go. They let me go and offered a home if I were to return. If Lexa had died, or walked away, she'd have suffered death. Not an honourable one either. I… I never saw it like that until now. I was too caught up in… in the _feelings_ of what she meant to me as a person, not as the Commander, to notice." Dashiq swallows thickly, watching you with a guarded expression that haunts you of Gustus, You shift uncomfortably, but before he can speak, Lexa whimpers and chokes again.

"Ssh," you whisper as you maneuver to her side to wipe her forehead again, "ssh, you're safe, Lex. It's okay."

" _Klark_ ," the nonsensical wheeze of your name leaves her lips with great strain, " _Klark, em laksen, Klark. Beja…_ "

"I'm here," you breathe as you kiss her forehead and then her hair, "I'm not leaving you, Lexa. Hang on, please. For me."

Dashiq watches the whole encounter with guarded eyes, and for once, the sight of him doesn't make you feel comforted. He looks at you in the same way when he'd been explaining the Ice Queen. You know instantly from his smouldering glance that he's doing it out of protection for Lexa. He gazes down at the young girl and you know that he must regard her as something more than just a girl, or even a Commander. Maybe he sees her as his daughter, too. You swallow thickly and hold his gaze to assure him that you are not Nia. You are not going to let Lexa die. You watch as he breaks the gaze so he may silently and stiffly rise. He mutters something about you needing to rest before heading out in the morning. He casts one final glance to a sleeping Lexa before going over to his men and taking a seat against the back of one of the trees. From there, he continues to watch you, silent and staring like a hawk. He's never been cold and distant, but this time he looks more than just upset. He looks scared and you know why. Another soft ' _Klark, beja_ ' leaves Lexa's lips and you pull yourself closer to the injured woman, choosing to ignore the icy glare sent to you from across the camp.

"Please," you whisper as you settle beside her. Then the softest of confessions leaves your lips. "I can't lose you, too."

 _I love you_ are the words you want to say, but you both know you're not ready for that yet.

(It doesn't change the fact that it's there, and always will be.)

 

**Lincoln**

 

"She's not going to make it, is she?" 

You glance up from where you're staring at Clarke holding Lexa and look over to Octavia, now making her way over to you. A faint sigh escapes you as she leans upon your side where you sit. You curl your arms around her body, thinking about how much you've been through in these past few months. Octavia nuzzles under your jaw and her hand brushes your chest, fingers tracing patterns into your sweat-stained shirt. You sigh again, kissing her forehead. 

"You survived being turned into a Reaper," she murmurs quietly, glancing back to Lexa, "so she can fight this too, right?"

You want to say yes, but you know that this is different. Lexa is different. Clarke is a healer, but she is no Abby Griffin. You swallow and sit in silence, only further causing the tensing of your girlfriend beside you. She begins to let it sink in that while you'd been poisoned in a strange way, it's not like this.

"She's strong," you say instead, "she's… she's strong."

But you both know she's not strong  _enough_.

"Tell me about her?" Octavia asks softly. Kaede's eyes flicker from across the fire and she shifts uncomfortably. You know that she still fears you after what happened a few days ago. Octavia's hand ghosts down your side as it comes to rest in the palm of your hand. She squeezes gently, but doesn't press. 

"What do you want to know?" You reply coarsely, trying to not let the hurt seep through the words. All of your memories of Lexa are good ones, until Costia. Octavia kisses your jaw and whispers for you to tell her about your childhood with Lexa, of the adventures you'd both get up to, of how you met.

"I met her after the ascension test," you whisper quietly, recalling the memory. "She was barely eight. Tiny thing. All of us were in disbelief she made it out alive. Most of the bets had been placed on Shiara, the Ice Queen's daughter. Even the Commander back then wanted her to win. No one counted in Lexa." You remember the sickly pale complexion of her skin, the round green eyes and bubbling laugh as Costia had told her a joke involving her mauled pinky.

"My mother was a healer in Polis for the old Commander, so my father took me there to see her after they announced Lexa had ascended," you explain as you lean back against the tree. "Anyways, we ended up becoming close friends. Anya would always come and scold us for trying to play with the bandages when Dashiq and my mother were gone. Lexa was talkative and had an attitude. Always headstrong, but she had a way with her words. At first I thought Costia was her sister, but then when I saw them together, how they held each other closely, I knew that there was something more between them. It made me happy. Lexa was so full of life, so unlike the other Commanders. She was the one who changed everything. Her mind was once a beautiful place."

"Was?" Kaede asks sheepishly. You nod up at her, taking in her features. Her tan skin glints under the pale moonlight, but you can see the inquisitiveness in her eyes. She reminds you of Lexa. Your heart tugs at the connection, and you find yourself struggling to breathe. If it isn't for Octavia's circling palm on your abdomen, you're sure you'd have had a heart attack. Swallowing, you notice that her tattoos are fresh. She must've been promoted recently.

"War changes the best of us," you murmur sadly, casting a glance over Octavia's head to where Clarke and Lexa lay together, "and believe me, Lexa was the best. There are some horrors even the strongest people, the Commander, can't escape." Kaede's lips shut at those words and she pulls her knees up. You peer at her, all the while holding Octavia a little closer to your chest. You can feel her slowing breaths and know she is on the verge of passing out.

"How old are you?" You ask Kaede softly, as to not frighten her. The girl steels herself and puts on a brave face.

"Nineteen summers," she says with a firm voice. You ache again, but Octavia's hand has stilled. Kaede looks worried at her answer. She fiddles with her thumbs as if she's unsure if she'd given the right one or not. You swallow down your pain and nod instead, offering silent recognition.

"Heda is nineteen summers," you tell her quietly and watch as her face drops with shock. She perks her brows and looks over to the Commander.

"Really?" She asks in disbelief. "B-But, I thought… with her kohl… she…"

"I know," you murmur tiredly, letting your cheek graze against Octavia's sleeping face. Kaede nods and dips her head respectfully, going quiet again. You almost feel sorry for the girl. There are days in which you loathe the society that'd raised you. This girl looks at Lexa like she's a God amongst mortals. You'd seen the shock on her face when she'd seen the ailing state of their injured Heda. She'd been absolutely devastated and pulled apart in horror.

That day you knew, Kaede learned that even _Gods_ bleed too.

 

**Raven**

 

"How's that mechanical radio tech thing going?"

You glance up to see Gina smiling at you from where she stands at the bar. You'd made friends with the girl after constantly coming for after-work stress relief. You snort as you accept the glass of what looks to be a moonshine and soda as she'd dubbed it one night. You take a sip and wince from the strength, which only causes Gina to laugh at your reaction. Shaking your head with a chuckle, you set the glass down on the table with a smile.

"Still trying to kill me, huh?" You joke with her as you down a little bit more. "But the signal amplifier is going well, thanks."

"Nerd," Gina remarks with your cocky smirk. She grabs herself a glass and sits next to you. Another person comes over to the piano and starts playing a more upbeat song. You lean back on the table and smile. It's been awhile since you'd last experienced a moment of respite. Your body feels lighter than before, and while you aren't completely fixed yet, you take your pride in the small victories. You can wake up without the taste of death on your tongue.

"Have you talked to Abby yet?" Gina prods gently, her tone guarded as though she fears your response. You stiffen slightly, and you can see Gina wince partially out of sympathy. You watch the other girl open her mouth to try and change the subject, but you lay your hand down on hers and squeeze.

"I am going to after her date with Kane," you reply with another smile. "She says that Mount Weather can help. I think… I think I'd like to try."

"And if it doesn't work…?" Gina trails off, knowing she's stretching it. Still, your mood is too good to let this bother you.

"Then it doesn't work," you answer simply, taking another drink. You remember Jasper, of his grief and pain over losing Maya. You remember how he'd fallen asleep in your arms that day. You take a sip and place the glass on the table, peering in the distance to where Miller and Monty are dancing close together. They both look so happy, and if you'd looked closer, you'd have said they looked like two kids in love. It makes you smile harder.

"You're brave, you know?" Gina muses as she licks her lips. "I mean, you have been through hell and back, Rae. You're… awesome."

"Thanks, nerd." You hear her groan and you grin, shoving her as she blushes. You've seen the way she looks at you and you'd be lying if you'd not thought about it. But you know better than to use her as casual sex. You care about Gina like she's your sister. She reminds you of Clarke somedays, and you know that you miss that blonde bitch even if she betrayed you. _I'd always pick you first_ , she'd said and you know she probably still means it, wherever she is now.

"But really," you say quietly after you've both stopped laughing, "thank you. I don't feel so bad when I'm with you."

"Yeah, well, I keep you around for your good looks anyways," Gina says with another hearty chuckle. "How else am I supposed to get customers?"

"Good to know you like me for my body," you reply with a friendly quip. Gina rolls her eyes and you smirk again, reaching for your drink. You see a flicker in the hallway and beam when you see it's Kane and Abby walking side by side, their hands clasped together. You watch as Abby's eyes meet yours across from the room and she blushes a bit, but you grin at her and tip your glass up in a silent congratulations. She only blushes harder and presses herself into Kane's side as they continue to walk towards their destination. You sigh contently and relax again on the chair.

"They make a cute couple," Gina muses as you open your eyes and blink at her. "I never knew you had it in you to be matchmaker."

"Oh I do," you say with a wink, "I am a certified genius, after all. I have multiple talents."

"Again," Gina says with an amused laugh, "you're a nerd."

"Yeah," you say with a smile on your face, "and you love it. Who else would fix your shit?"

"I could ask one of the sleazy engineers or Wick," she says, poking your side. You roll your eyes at the mention of that fling. Luckily, things hadn't been too hard for the boy. You know that he cares deeply for you, more than what you need or could accept. But he was fine with being friends. He still likes to pester you with that classic engineer-mechanic rivalry, but he doesn't pressure you into anything. He's a great friend, and you're lucky to have him.

"Wick would do anything to show off in front of a girl," you chuckle as you recall him dancing to get the attention of one of Gina's friends. You scrunch up your face and chuckle as you say, "it's a little embarrassing, actually." Gina laughs and nods, taking another swig of her drink before leaning into you.

"Well, good thing I've got my Little Bird." You smile at the nickname and Gina blushes. You cough and look down as she looks away, rubbing the back of her head nervously. You notice her nervousness and ease it by reaching over to squeeze her hand. You see her brow perk up inquisitively.

"Not yet," you tell her gently, licking your lips as your gaze casts down to her mouth, "but not never."

"Okay," Gina whispers in return, a smile playing at her lips as she intertwines your fingers. "I can live with that, I suppose."

The rest of the night you spend in the company of content silence, smooth drinks, and clasped hands.

 

**Lexa**

 

You are eleven and a half summers when Heda dies.

You stand at his pyre, gulping as Anya is shouldered at your side. Costia is on your other end while Luna stands behind you. Lincoln and his parents are on their left, watching over the burning pyre quietly. From across the way, you catch the boy's eyes. He looks sad, but not for the Commander's death. His big dark eyes peer into yours and they are glazed with sadness for you. He swallows thickly and bows his head as you take your place on the raised platform.

"With a heavy heart, I denounce Heda Aranion. His soul ascends to the stars where the Spirits will guide him home," Indra, one of the generals calls out from beside you. She is tall and strong, apparently the elder sister of the previous Commander. "In his stead, the new Heda, _Leksa kom Trikru_ will rise and carry on his legacy. His blood is her blood. His soul her soul." She stares down at you like you're scum and it makes you shiver. Anya grits her teeth from where she stands, and you can see that it's taking everything in her willpower to not stand up and push Indra off the stage.

The previous Heda had been ruthless but kept the _Trigedakru_ and the _Floukru_ safe. The people feared him, but in respected them in same. Indra reaches for the yellow cloth around your shoulder and dislodges it. Her hands fold the material in her hands before placing it in the hands of a big man with a busy beard. He looks like he could tower over you, much like Dashiq, but his eyes are gentle. He gives you the faintest ghost of a smile and you stop shaking atop the platform. Indra grunts and turns her gaze to the taller man. She holds her empty hand out, her eyes cold and pained.

"Gustus," she says sternly, "the sash."

Gustus nods and hands Indra the crimson drape. There are the faintest stains of blood on some of the parts that make your stomach churn. He then takes your sash and walks to the pyre. He wraps it around one of the wooden sticks before casting it into the burning pit. The yellow of your sash is smouldering in the flame soon enough, signalling the end of your training and the beginning of your leadership. Of course, you still have a few months left training with Anya, so Indra and the _fleimkapa_ Titus will hold a provisional government in Polis for the time being. You'd met him earlier, but he was reserved and quiet. Indra had seen you first and you knew that she hated you right off the bat. Hated that you were small and brash and tempered.

But now, she must follow tradition, which means you are the Commander and she is your general. You are a kid, but you are commanding warriors twice your age. You gulp as you watch her grab at the pauldron before reaching for the red sash. She pins it to the shoulder guard before placing it over your shoulders and clipping it to your chest. When she lets go, she turns you towards the people, the thousands of Grounders that await a speech. They stare at the red donned on your shoulder with gleaming eyes. You clear your throat as Indra steps off the stage with a grunt, leaving you alone.

"People of the Boats and Trees," you call out to them, your voice squeaking at first. You see Indra wince and you almost want to cry. You're not ready for this. Not for the glares and snorts coming from the crowd. But then your eyes find Lincoln's reassuring gaze and Costia's gentle smile and you find yourself taking another breath. You harden your stare and you can almost see Anya grinning from behind you proudly. You steel yourself, beginning again.

"For too long have we spilled blood with neighbouring clans," you bellow out, lowering your voice to a sterner tone, "for too long have our brothers and sisters returned to burned villages and empty homes. For too long have we felt the pain of death upon our palms. For too long have our _yongons_ feared playing in the forest for the fear of being slaughtered. I vow to you, as your Heda, that I will do everything in my power to protect you and your families from injustice, famine, disease, and war. I vow to serve my people, all of my people, to my fullest extent. I will wage peace, not war. That is a promise."

The crowd is silent and for a moment you think that you've said the wrong thing. But then, you hear a creaking and Anya stands atop the stage beside you. She raises her hand and pulls out her dagger. You watch as she slits the skin of her palm open and lets the blood drop to the floor before she turns to the crowd with a steely gaze. You hear another creak and turn to see Dashiq and Luna stand atop the stage, mimicking Anya. Your mentor steps forward and stares into the crowd of murmuring and whispering Grounders, stiffening her back and setting her jaw proudly.

"As the Heda Aranion's _seken_ , I vow to serve Heda Leksa with my entire soul. The era of war is over," Anya says as she turns to face you, "and now, it is time for a well deserved peace. _Kom Heda_!" She bellows out the last part into the crowd, holding up her bloodied hand. Luna and Dashiq shout the same thing, and soon enough, Gustus joins you on stage and holds out his own bloodied palm. You want to cower as he stands beside you, but then out of the sight of others, he offers a gentle smile, one that makes you feel safe. You find yourself pressing a bit closer to him. Another man joins him, his beard also long.

"Tomac," Gustus says as he nods to the man, "our _Strik Heda_ has got quite the voice, hasn't she?" Tomac nods and beams down at you, encouraging you with a small pat to your back before he raises his hand, cuts his palm, and shouts out a strong ' _kom Heda_ ' to the crowd of Grounders. Indra is the last to do the ceremonial offering, but it's not without a little disdain in her voice when she speaks the words. You still fear her, but you hear Gustus chuckle.

"Do not worry," he assures you, "she is not the friendliest of generals, but she will take a liking to you soon enough."

As soon as the important people come to the stage to offer a blood oath, it's time for the Grounders to welcome you. They raise their hands, all bloodied from their daggers, in solidarity with you. At last, Anya comes back and brings you to the centre stage. You glance down at your dagger, the one you'd been gifted, before you shakily take it into your hands. You feel so small holding it out with a slightly trembling hand. You hear Indra snort again, but before you can turn and face her, Gustus comes and stands in front, blocking her view. He gives you another gentle smile before he winks subtly. You swallow harshly as Anya takes your palm and quells the shaking with a gentle, kind squeeze. Her gaze remains stern, but you see the pride in there.

"Not too deep or long, okay?" She whispers as she nods to the crowd. You nod and take a breath to steel yourself. You ignore the worried stare of Lincoln and Costia beside you as you raise your hand. You slice a nick deep enough to spill blood, but not enough to sever anything. The crowd cheers at the sight and you fight down the tears so you may be brave for your people. You watch the blood drip down your wrist and into the wooden platform.

Soon enough, the ceremony is over and the people filter out of the centre square. You have to wait for everyone to be gone before you're allowed to leave. By this time, Dashiq has already wrapped your hand with a black cloth to prevent showing your blood. You stare down at the bandage with a frown, but you don't say anything. Indra calls for Gustus and Tomac, before sending another glare your way. You gulp and shiver again, but force yourself to stand strong. Anya remains tall and stoic at your side, her arms crossed over her chest with subtle protection. Indra glares at her too, but it doesn't affect your mentor.

"I hope you know what you're doing," Indra spits as she shakes her head. You tilt your chin up with a challenge in your eyes.

 _C'mon Leksa_ , the voice inside your head pleads, _you're the Commander now._

"I do," you say with authority, surprised by your own tone, "and I will keep my promise. No more war."

Indra remains quiet for a few moments before she grunts and leaves. Gustus and Tomac smile once more at you before bidding their farewells and following Indra to where Titus waits. You watch them until they go out of sight before you sigh and relax. Anya chuckles lightly beside you, slapping you on the back as she notices the paling of your cheeks. Dashiq and Luna come around, their own smiles laden with a bit of pain when they glance at your hand. You nod silently as you begin walking towards your quarters. You stare up at Polis tower, revelling in the size of the giant building. You gulp as you stare at it, still unsure of how it could possibly be considered a home for one person. You know many people live in the tower, but Heda occupies the top.

"It's got quite the view," a soft voice says, pulling you from your thoughts. You glance over to see Lincoln standing with his parents, a gentle smile on his face. You look at him shyly as he comes to stand beside you. Costia joins your other side and she sighs, refraining from reaching for your hand. Lincoln looks like he wants to laugh at the nervousness on your face, so you stick your tongue out of him. A firm smack to the back of your head startles you.

"Hey!" You growl as you glare up at an unamused Anya. You scowl and grumble under your breath as both Costia and Lincoln giggle a little at the faint sparkle of tease in Anya's eyes. You know she only allows it because no one is watching but your close friends. She places her hand on your shoulder.

"Come," she tells you as she nods towards the tower, "your room has already been made up, Heda."

The word drains the fun and tease out of you instantly. You sober up and nod solemnly. You hear Luna sigh and murmur something into Anya's ear, too quiet for you to understand, but your mentor nods anyways. Lincoln bids you a fond farewell before he is pulled away by his parents to return home. You watch him until his back disappears into the dawning evening crowd of the people of Polis. You gulp again as Anya leads the way with Dashiq at her side. They talk in low voices while Luna makes up the tail. Costia somehow manages to reach between the two of you for your hand. Your fingers lightly intertwine and you blush at the feeling of her gentle fingers. You will be twelve soon, but you can't help but feel older now with your title.

Yet, Costia always makes you feel young.

You're still adjusting to your new sash. Your old one had been tailored to a _Heda-in-training_ as Costia'd called it, but this is Heda's sash. The sweeping curtain hangs like a dress on you. It's too long and you trip over it like a cape, but you refuse to appear weak in front of your new people. Anya will tell Indra and Titus step down once she deems you fit of leading, which you know due to the nagging feeling in the back of your mind is coming soon. You can hear it in the snippets of conversation coming from up ahead as you enter the elevator with your mentor and Dashiq. The ride is silent, but then you yawn as you reach the summit. You try to hide the noise behind your palm, but it doesn't go unnoticed by Dashiq, Costia, or her mother.

"Come, _ai yongon_ ," Luna murmurs as she sees the fatigue in your eyes. "Let's get you into bed."

Luna is the only one who still sees you as a child, innocent and pure to the world despite your ten kill scars now. You still wake up sick, drenched in sweat from the lives you'd taken. You still hate the burn of the heated metal upon your skin, and you know that even though Anya makes you hold still and take it, she loathes the scars too. Costia has made peace with them. She makes you a slave to apply and offers calming words. She closed herself off on the first one, but now she keeps herself open, allowing you to draw from her strength in times of need. She really is the best thing to come into your life.

"She's not a child," Anya growls as she looks up to Luna, who only raises her brow challengingly. "I mean it, Luna."

"She is _my_ child," Luna says without so much as a stutter, "no matter what her title is, she is my child first." You nod and press into her side, but not before tearing away upon Anya's glare. Costia crosses her arms and stands in front of you, ever your protector, challenging the seasoned warrior to move. Anya doesn't even pass her a glance, but you can make out the faintest trace of pain in her eyes. You know why she's doing this and it saddens you.

"Weakness is not to come from leaders," Anya says, glancing down at you, "it is time for you to step up, Heda. You are Commander now."

"She maybe Heda but she is still a child. Her training will not be over until you make that call, Anya. There is no one here," Luna snarls at her, wrapping her arms around your shoulders and tugging you protectively into her side, "there is no war tonight. Let her be, Anya. Let her be a child tonight."

"War is always present," Anya tells you, ignoring the smouldering glare of your  _nomon_  behind you. "You know your job when you were chosen, Heda. I have trained you well, but at the end of this summer, you will be taking the lead and the council will be appointing you a general. And I… _I_ won't be your mentor anymore." Your jaw drops at the news. The summer is coming in less than four moons. You nearly want to be sick at the thought of being torn away from Anya. This is the woman who taught you everything, from survival to fighting to hunting and even forging weapons. She is the _sis_ you never had.

You can't forget how Oriana had practically spat in your face after you told her about your _nontu_. You'd found her in Polis just after your test, where she'd been seething at the very sight of you. If it hadn't been for Anya, she would've wrung her hands around your throat in her fury. She screamed hateful things at you, blamed you for a death you've never let go, before Anya ordered one of her guards to take her away. That night, your mentor found you at the balcony of one of the residences, watching the forest. She'd sat beside you in silence because Anya was never one for words, especially those of a comforting manner, but she was like the trees. She was rooted to the ground, and she held you there so you may experience a level of stability. 

 _I didn't ask for this_ , you'd sniffled at her that night, trying to hide your tears. _I_ never _wanted this._ Anya had only sighed as she nodded.

 _I know_ , she murmured quietly as she'd placed her hand on your shoulder, _but here you are. There's no use dwelling on the past._

 _Will she ever forgive me?_ You'd asked with a soft cry. You remember looking into your hands and searching for something that wasn't blood. Anya had sighed again, her back stiffening as an impassive expression took over her eyes. She'd peered out into the darkness wistfully. It made you wonder just how she'd lost. You could only imagine, especially considering she'd been the previous Commander's second. She was in every battle he'd ever fought.

 _Maybe_ , she murmured softly, _maybe not. Life is a fleeting thing, Leksa. Take what you can while it lasts, forgiveness or not._

"Just one night," Costia begs her, interrupting your thoughts. "Let her be Leksa for one night, please."

Anya bites her lip, mulling it over as she stares at you. In the flicker of her dark eyes, you can see her remembering the same conversation as you. That's the beauty of your relationship. You both have this sense that connects you, and more often than not, you find yourselves sharing the same thoughts and ideas. She sighs before stiffly nodding and turning away without another word. You dig your face into Luna's long, flowery dress as she and Costia lead you back to your room in Polis. You walk through the building's floor, the silence almost unbearable. Dashiq sees his leave at your door, bidding you a good night. Costia, sweet and warm - _anchoring_ \- Costia reaches for your hand and squeezes so tightly you're afraid it might fall off. You look up to see a door.

 _Your_ door.

" _Ste yuj_ ," she whispers to you as the doors open and you're lead into the room, "you are safe with me, Leksa. I promise."

You both gaze in to the quarters with a giant look of shock plastered to your faces. The room is huge, with an ornate dresser and massive bed frame. A few of Aranion's belongings are left behind, like his vast collection of books and maps, but his personal items were placed away. You see a wall dedicated to just weapons, some dried with blood and others clean and glinting. You are frozen to your spot. A throat clears behind you as you both turn. Costia instantly lets go of your hand when the two of you see Titus and Indra standing in the doorway. The man offers a soft smile, but Indra remains cold.

"The room is yours now, Heda. Is there anything you require?" Titus asks gently, catching the nervousness on your face. You shake your head and glance around the room. You know that Luna is the leader of _Floukru_. She cannot stay in Polis forever, and when summer ends, neither will Anya. Lincoln lives in TonDC with his father, so he will be gone also. Your gut churns at the thought of being alone again. You want to cry, but you remember Anya's words.

_You are the Commander now._

"No, _mochof_ ," you say gratefully, dipping your head with respect. "Good night, Titus."

"Pleasant dreams, Heda. Your guards will assist you should you require anything," he says as he beckons for Indra to follow him. Luna stares her down, almost non-verbally daring her to say something. Indra remains silent and leaves without passing you another glance. The doors close behind you and you're left alone with Costia and Luna. The older woman sighs and nods at Costia to go into the other room so that she may have a moment alone with you.

"You can come back to say good night," Luna assures her when Costia glares. You nod at your friend, ignoring the way your heart pounds erratically when she bites her lip and sighs in defeat. She gives you another crushing hug anyways before she split ways. You hear the doors close and let your shoulders fall a bit. Luna leads you further into your bedroom with a faint smirk, but you don't notice it. A chess set sits on a mahogany table in the corner, one that was once used back when you were _Heda-in-training_ and not the actual Heda. You and Costia would play for hours and you'd always be able to beat her in less than eight moves. Sometimes you would face Anya or Luna, too, but no one could ever beat you. There'd been not a single strategy game they could best you in, and you curse yourself for not having noticed the signs earlier. You knew you were smart, but never this much. 

You're not ready for this, for the death or the war that comes with being Heda.

(You try not to look at your bloodied hand and realize that you have no choice.)

"Your garments, _hodnes_ ," Luna coos as she starts undoing the braids in your hair. You take a breath and nod, removing yourself from her to strip down to your undergarments. Your breasts are just starting to come in - oh how you'd panicked when one day they showed up out of nowhere and how Anya had laughed when you'd stormed into her room and pointed at them in fear. They're still small, but they're _definitely there_ , or at least that's what Anya had told you with a dry chuckle. You told Costia too, but she'd only blushed and said something you didn't quite get because it'd been too quiet. You've started sprouting dark hair under your arms and on your legs and arms too, but Luna tells you that you do not become a woman until you bleed. This only terrifies you further - a fact in which Anya had again laughed and called you  _branwada_  at because a Heda's life is steeped in nothing _but_ the crimson liquid.

 _Why do you think the women are leaders and the men are soldiers?_ Anya had chortled. _No one knows about blood better than us, goufa._

But now, the thought of blood makes you sick.

"I'm going to die, aren't I?" You ask as Luna hands you your night clothes. Your eyes glisten as you stare up at her. "Right, _nomon_?"

" _Leksa, ai yongon_ ," she whispers in a tone that breaks your heart. Her breath catches and she bends down to rub her thumb over your jaw, under the tiny nick left there from your first battle by Anya's side. You'd fallen off your horse and got whipped by a tree branch. You blink and look down, the silence reaffirming the truth that lays thick and heavy in the tense air. You fidget with your hands, gulping down nervous, frantic thoughts.

"Anya told me that Heda's discovered young do not live long," you murmur quietly, "that they do not live to see twenty-five summers."

"Oh Leksa," she hums again sympathetically, wrapping her arms around you as she squeezes you tightly. You sob into her dress, because you're afraid to die. You've seen the deaths of many, and have been at the hand of killing them yourselves only to cry about it afterwords. You remember how you'd wailed in Costia's arms after your test, mourning the deaths of the boy killed by the trees and the girl who died at your blade. You clutch Luna tighter, taking in her scent and feeling, knowing that you may as well be outlived by all of your closest companions and friends. Luna's mouth pecks a soft kiss to your frazzled locks, leaving you breathless. You can feel the fear in her grip as she holds you closer. She wants to protect you, but she knows she can't.

 _No one_ can protect you now.

" _Chil au, yongon_ ," she whispers, her voice cracking as she holds back her own tears, " _chil au, yu kamp gouthru, Leksa,_ ssh."

"No, I'm not!" You shout against her chest, pulling away to wipe the burning eyes from your cheeks. "I am not safe! I will _never_ be safe!"

Luna does not argue, nor does she disagree with what you are saying. You turn your head from her and cry, curling into yourself as you glance out the window to the smoke lingering from the pyre in the city-centre. You are so mad at him for dying, for not giving you enough time, for leaving a world so corrupt and evil in your hands when you still hesitate to take a life. You can practically see his dastardly smirk. He'd hated you. He'd _loathed_ the idea of your being his successor. You hate how he'd created so much tension between your clans, a tension you won't ever understand because you are all humans, all born on this earth having survived the old world. You carry life and love and good things, things that do not need to die but still do.

"Leksa," another soft voice comes from the doorway. You glance up to see Costia standing in the frame, Anya at her side. The minute the former girl sees you, you're running towards each other, wrapping yourselves in each other's embraces like you are meant to fit together. Her long arms snake around your shoulders and tug you into her, like she is the vines that tether the trees to the ground. You wish that you could have a mini Costia in the back of your pocket, to pull out for hugs and embraces and reminders that this life is still worth living despite the evil that flourishes within its confines.

"Luna," Anya whispers, her voice different from before. You tighten your grip on Costia when you see her glance at you almost mournfully before nodding back to your _nomon_. Luna sighs and nods, stepping forward and into the hallway. Luna gives you a soft, sad smile before gently shutting the door behind her. Costia pecks your cheek when she's gone, her hands rubbing up and down your back in soothing, soft strokes to quell your shaking sobs.

"I won't let you die," Costia whispers softly into your ear, "not when… not while I still breathe, _ai hodnes._ "

"I love you," you tell her strongly, more tears leaking from your eyes. Costia tenses for a moment, because while you've said these words before, so many times before, but this is the first time you've said it like _this_. It's raw and powerful, a feeling that rips your heart from your chest to hold out in sacrifice to her. It's a million wasps buzzing and stinging the inner lining of your stomach. It's the haze of the hot springs on a cool winter day. Your heart is a beating drum, erratic and unsure, plagued with grief and uncertainty and oceans of loss. But Costia takes it in her gentle hands, holding it like the most precious gem in the world. She dusts off the edges and cleans the cuts before settling it back inside your chest with love and affection. _Her_ love and affection.

" _Ai hod yu in, ai Leksa. Feva,_ " Costia whispers back, chuckling that she's the one speaking in your native tongue for once. You both let out a faint giggle at the thought, choosing to forget about what wakes in the morning and instead to live in this moment. Your forehead rests against hers and you both risk breathing so you may look into each other eyes. You are daring and brave, something you'd learn from your love, and so you pull back in a hot second and reach for Costia's cheeks. You're nearly eye-level now, what with your growth spurts over the past few months, and you look to her lips.

"Do it," Costia hums quietly, her own hands framing your face, " _kiss_ _me_ , _Leksa_."

And so you do.

Her lips feel like satin on your own mouth and for a moment, you've forgotten how to breathe. You gasp as she cries out, obviously having felt the same sparks of fire running up and down your arms, your spine, your legs - your _heart_ \- until it transforms into fireworks. You feel like you're in space, that you've combusted into one of the stars and are shooting into the heat of the sun. You clutch her tighter and you're certain you've never been closer than in that moment. You feel her smile against your lips, so wide and pure that your heart nearly bursts with pride and endearment. 

But then, you both need air so you pull away with a quiet laugh.

"Wow," Costia giggles as you give her a hug. Both your faces are a deep shade of pink, lips slightly moist, breathing a bit harder than usual, but it's perfect. You want to freeze this moment and live in it forever, to be in the glow of the one you love, lost in love and innocence. You can only nod, speechless.

"Took you long enough, don't you think?" Costia asks with a smirk, her hand reaching up to cup your face. "I was wondering when you'd figure it out."

"Hey," you pout as she laughs again before leaning her forehead against your own, "I have a lot of stuff to think about."

"I think of you always," she breathes out quietly, and there it is, that pounding in your heart that drives you mad. "Always, Leksa."

You hold her for a few moments longer before you meet in another kiss, and then another, and then shortly you're peppering kisses to her jaw and cheeks and neck, like you want to just absorb every inch of her, to melt into her and leave the worries of your time behind you. Costia is the same, you can tell by the sheer ferocity in the swipe of her lips when they latch onto yours. You can feel it in the nuzzle of her nose so close to yours. You can hear it in every gasped breath that parts her moist lips. You can sense it in the prickling, wandering touches of her fingertips upon your face and arms.

In that moment, as the two of you curl up next to each other in your nightgowns, your hands clasped together and lips every so often exchanging soft kisses of loving words, you are girls. You are not the Commander and she is not your subject. You are equals, and you will always be equals. To you, however, Costia is the queen. You look at her like she radiates life, and you know in the way her delicate fingers patch together the weathered linings of your soul, that she is life. She is beauty and grace and stability and love and she is _life_. She is _your_ life. She is _yours_.

"Mine," Costia whispers back when she catches you staring at her with a glazed, lovesick expression. "Forever."

" _Feva_ ," you echo as you kiss her once more before curling up in her arms. " _Ain_." Tonight, you allow yourself to be a girl in love with her best friend. She kisses your messy curls again before she sighs and reaches for the furs. The two of you curl into each other, your bodies moulding together like you're both the two corner pieces to a puzzle that no one ever thought to finish. She presses butterfly kisses to your scalp until she falls to the land of dreams. You take in the essence of her, of her scent and soft skin. You feel those soft lips in your hair and her calloused palms on your lower back and you smile.

As you drift off to sleep, you figure being the Commander can wait for just one night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRANSLATIONS:
> 
> Ai frag - I killed  
> Oso dula op oso gaf kik thru, Strik Heda - we do what we must to survive, little Commander  
> Dulo yu op biyo moba - do you forgive me?  
> Ai yongon - my child  
> Haukom - why  
> Gada - girl  
> Beja - please  
> Ai hod yu in - I love you  
> Nontu/Nomon - Father/Mother  
> Ai yu gada in - I've got you  
> Chil au, beja, ai get klin em laksen - please relax, I know it hurts  
> Yu gaf in chil au - you've got to calm down  
> Gon ai - for me  
> Tieres kom Heda - Tears of the Commander  
> Prisa - princess  
> Fleimkapa - Old Guard  
> Kom Heda - For the Commander  
> Ste yuj - be strong  
> Mochof - thank you  
> Branwada - idiot/fool  
> Goufa - child (silly)  
> Yu kamp gouthru - you are safe  
> Feva - forever  
> Ain - mine
> 
> No joke though, I really want to learn Trigedasleng. It's so cool.
> 
> Also, I apologize once again for the length of these chapters. I know that they're not easy to get through so kudos to you guys that have stuck through. Thank you for the comments y'all leave. They mean the world, even if you just put a smiley face or a say like two words, lol. It's the best feeling in the world <3
> 
> Cheers!

**Author's Note:**

> Summary and title comes from quotes in the movie, "Ram Leela".


End file.
